#spider doesnt even look like a real word anymore

[chapstickcaps]

“my eyebags are iconic and my back pain is chronic” - Spidey Stick, 2023

My friend told me they thought I’d make a good Spider-Man the other day and I nearly cried and then I got the idea for a spidey sona so here we are lol

Idk what my powers would be, probably the typical spidey stuff and something to do with electricity because that is f’in cool and I love Miles Morales’ Spider-Man so much it’s so cool and yeah

Close ups because yeah

[beomglocks]

friendly neighborhood spiderman ; hk

warnings & other: fluff, spiderman!hyuka, normal person!reader, best friend!kai, reader doesnt know kai is spiderman, he looks so good in that gif i cant move on

"what do you mean you can't hang out today? we always binge-watch power rangers on fridays."

you should've known it would come to this point but hueningkai bailing on you on your sacred days? completely unfathomable. he chuckles nervously and you watch him stumble over his words. "well there's always tomorrow?" he says, unsure of himself.

you were used to kai skimping out on you. if anything, it became somewhat of a normal occurrence. he would often randomly announce that something had come up and before you could even question him about it, he was gone. practically vanishing into thin air, you've grown used to his sudden disappearances. he would always come back as if nothing happened but with random scratches or bruises all over him.

for this, you took up the job of providing his aftercare. during these sessions in your dingy bathroom, you both would sit in silence for a couple of minutes. after the silence became too much to bear, you would speak up and ask him what happened or why he suddenly looked beat to a pulp. he would never tell you the real reason so you came to the conclusion that he was hiding something from you.

what that something was, was still a mystery to you.

he had to be hiding something from you. kai rarely ever got into fights. even at your college, where the majority of the student body were complete dickheads, he would keep to himself. on the off chance that someone ever wanted to start something, they would simply get intimidated by kai's height.

he sighs exasperatedly, "look y/n, just- it's just that th-."

"this is super duper important and you just don't have to means to skip out on it, i know i know," you reiterate his mantra like a drone. it's the same excuse every time.

he pats your head lovingly and you shake your head to brush his hand off. "whatever dude, just don't be mad when im 50 episodes deep and won't wanna go back for you." he laughs, rolling his eyes playfully, "you always go back for me."

you stick your tongue out at him as you watch him run out of your apartment.

you sigh, walking back to your living room and throwing yourself down on the couch. the silence in your apartment is deafening and unfortunately, kai is no longer here to fill the empty space. you frown, curling into yourself on your couch while switching back to the normal tv and flipping through channels.

you've always liked hueningkai. he was someone you've cherished since freshman year of high school. back then he was just some skinny kid who could barely hold his own. you had been the one to come up to him and befriend him but as it turns out he grew up.

you never thought you'd catch feelings for him but all of a sudden he had grown taller than you and his voice was an octave deeper than the cute, screeching boy you had first encountered.

you kept your feelings hidden well so far since you didn't know how kai would react. he wasn't really the type to have girls fawn over him but once arriving to college, almost everyone wanted him. it made you feel a bit self conscious considering he was this tall, ridiculously handsome guy and you were well...you.

you sigh once again. you hoped he wasn't ditching you to hang out with some college girl or go to some college party. maybe that's why he would come back home bruised up, going to some college party and doing some crazy shit there.

you pause your flipping through channels when you catch a glimpse of a guy in a red and black suit on your tv screen.

spiderman. you smile when you see him on your screen. you're lucky to have been born in the same era as a superhero. you've only ever really read about them in comics or seen cartoons of them but to live during the same time as one was something else.

it seemed as if there were new supervillains every other day but spiderman would always swoop in and save the day.

"there goes that spider menace again. he probably set up the whole situation just to make himself look good in the eyes of the public," james jonah jameson, the tv announcer, states.

"im telling you all! how can you trust a guy who's going around the city swinging on webs, fighting bad guys, and calling himself the spiderman?! he's the real villain!" some shaky cam footage of spiderman freely swinging through the city is played on screen and you smile at how carefree he looks. he keeps swinging until he reaches the main source of the situation and the footage switches to the news camera crew's line of sight.

they seem to be pretty close to the action and your breath hitches at who the villain who decided to show himself today is. sandman, and he looks pissed. he's throwing around stray cars and shooting sand at everything in his path. "where's spiderman!" he roars.

spiderman gracefully lands on his two feet right behind sandman. "you rang?" he jokes casually. sandman spins around wildly and wastes no time hurling some sand at the hero. spiderman narrowly avoids this but steadies himself for a serious fight.

you watch in awe at how cool spiderman looks while fighting. he looks so elegant as if he's dancing. the fight goes on for about 5 minutes and in those 5 minutes, both parties get beat pretty bad. spiderman who can barely stand straight is panting heavily since he just got up from being thrown into a wall.

sandman goes in for a couple more punches, some he misses however he gets some good ones in. "getting tired spidey?" sandman taunts. "you wish," spiderman croaks out. you watch him look around and luckily there's a fire truck near them.

spiderman uses his webs to bring the fire hose to him and you watch him use his last bit of strength to pull the latch that lets all the water out. sandman doesn't get the chance to dodge this and is effectively hit with the powerful blast of water from the hose.

the camera pans to sandman who is now on the floor, slipping away through the cracks towards the sewer. they then pan back to the wall where spiderman was leaning against but he's no longer there.

"ah another day, another win for our friendly neighborhood spiderman!" the tv hostess on the scene says. you sigh as the broadcast cuts back to james jameson spewing more slander on spiderman's name. "i hope he's ok, he looked pretty beat up," you say to no one in particular.

just then you hear a thump on your window. you live on the 12th floor of your building so realistically nothing should be hitting your window unless there are birds but it's a little late for them to be out and about. you cautiously walk over to your window and you see someones back? someone's back?

you unlatch your window and let it flip open. the person jumps up on your window sill in alarm, but once he sees you he calms down and throws himself onto your floor in exhaustion. you stand there in shock at who is on your living room floor right now. "spiderman?" you gasp. he groans out a reply but you don't care. spiderman is in your house right now! "i literally just saw you on tv! you were like so cool out ther-" you cut yourself off when you hear him breathing heavily.

"oh- oh my god ok uh-" you lift him up as best as you can and wrap his arm around your shoulder. spiderman hasn't passed out just yet so he uses a bit of his strength so that it's not a chore to drag him to your bathroom.

once you manage to drag him to your bathroom he throws himself onto the sink edge and leans back on your mirror with a sigh. "i can't believe you're in my house right now," you randomly blurt. he nods but says nothing as he points to his abdomen. "help," he grunts. you immediately go to the first aid kit that's always kept on deck since you're always patching up hueningkai.

he grabs the hem of his suit and lifts it up, displaying his torso. "woah," you instinctively cover your eyes thinking he was about to undress or something. you hear him chuckle softly. "relax."

when you lower your hands you see the nastiest scar on his lower stomach and you try not to stare too hard thinking it may offend him. "help me clean it please," he mumbles in pain. "i know i have healing powers or whatever but it's not gonna kick in rapidly unless i do some of the work myself."

you stare at spiderman in disbelief. "uh- i mean of course. i'd love to help, spiderman." he chuckles again at your eagerness, finding it cute.

"how'd you get to my window sill?" you say before you can think. you immedeintly slap your hand over your mouth, not wanting to offend him somehow. he coughs somewhat awkwardly while looking around your bathroom.

"i- i mean the lights were on, the building was close...just a coincidence i guess?" he stammers through his sentence and rubs the back of his head. you bring your eyebrows together in confusion, "but i don't live that cl-" he cuts you off by grabbing his abdomen in pain.

"oh- OW! just please help," he wails.

you both sit in silence after that while you help patch him up and you get major deja vu except, instead of patching kai up you're patching up spiderman. you laugh at yourself and spiderman perks up. "what's so funny?"

"nothing it's just... i always go through this same routine with my best friend hueningkai," you say. spiderman nods off, "your best friend hueningkai?" you hum a confirmation, "yeah he's always running off and getting himself into trouble. i'm like his personal nurse."

spiderman leans back on your mirror again and you assume he's going to doze off or rest while you clean his wound but he speaks up again, "what's this hueningkai like?"

"he's really sweet. the sweetest boy i've ever met. he's a really good friend to me but i guess he's growing up, it feels like he doesn't need me anymore. he's always bailing on me to probably hang out with his cooler friends or something." you sigh and when the silence rings in your ears you realize you just rambled about your friend to a superhero.

"oh god im sorry i d-" spiderman shifts in his spot and let's out a breath. "maybe he's just busy? he's probably got a lot on his shoulders." you pout, dabbing the cotton ball onto the wound gently.

"i just- look i really like kai, like more than a friend. how am i supposed to get closer to him if he's always running off doing whatever!”

spiderman sits up straight in his spot, “you like me more than a friend?!” you look at him confused since you didn’t exactly catch what he said. “huh?”

“uh- i mean... well maybe he also sees you as more than a friend too, you never know,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“maybe..” you trail off uncertainty.

after you finish patching spiderman up he jumps off the counter and stretches his limbs. “wow i feel better already. you’re amazing,” he compliments. you hide your face in your hands shyly but smile up at him.

“it must be difficult saving the world from bad guys huh,” you joke. he nods, groaning tiredly, “you have no idea.”

you see him look over at your tv but since he’s wearing his mask you can’t really tell what his expression is or what he might be thinking. “right, you said you saw me on tv,” he chuckles.

“well thank you y/n for helping me get better, im sure i’ll be fine by tomorrow morning but for now ive gotta head back to shield to report what happened. you know superhero stuff,” he gloats.

you nod at him, amazed by how hard working he is but you look at him bewildered for the 3rd time today. “how did you know my name?”

he looks around frantically and scratches his head, “that cup over there says it!” sure enough when you look over, there’s a cup with your name printed on it. it happened to be a cup gifted to you from hueningkai last christmas.

you hear spiderman sigh, “well, gotta run! im positive i’ll be seeing you around.” he walks up to you and pats your head, something only kai is allowed to do but you let it slide for spiderman since he’s a superhero.

you follow him to your window where he prepares to jump out and swing back to shield. once he’s outside you yell out to him, “thank you spiderman!”

around three hours after spiderman left your apartment you hear your doorbell ring. they stopped playing the news about spiderman’s fight an hour ago so you decided to watch something else.

you groan dramatically, dragging yourself to your door. when you swing it open you see kai standing there with a smile on his face.

the drowsiness you previously had disappears when you see him. “oh my god kai you’ll never believe what happened to me!” you say excitedly. “hello to you too,” he laughs.

you drag him to your couch, “spiderman was here!” you shout. he raises his eyebrows at you, smiling wider. “wow really? was he cool?” you sigh dreamily, “he’s so cool kai.”

“wait you actually believe me?” you ask. he chuckles, looking away from you. “of course i believe you, why would you lie?”

you shrug, “i mean im not lying but if i was, i could’ve been lying to have you hang out with me more just in case i ever meet him again. you could meet him too.”

kai shakes his head, “y/n are you using spiderman as an excuse to get me to hang out with you more?” he laughs, “don’t worry i’ll hang out with you as much as i can.”

he pats your head again similarly to how he did earlier and you smile sadly, remembering spiderman’s words. hueningkai must be really busy and here he is promising to spend more time with you. this just makes you like and cherish him more.

you hug him tightly as a form of appreciation and he hugs you back with the same strength. when you pull away you look over his face and you’re about to say something when something catches your eye.

you lean in closer to his face and he inches back instinctively. “wha-“

“is that sand in your hair?”

[juliepop]

New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolutions

[Miragehound Fic] AO3 Link: here

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (

A/N): Wow, who doesnt post for a year and comes back just to drop some fluff? Me. Hi, I've had a really shitty year and I needed to write something to make myself feel better. This is dedicated to I. They're the person who pulled me out of a really dark spot and encouraged me to take time for myself and write a little.

Summary: Elliott was taking this New Years Resolution List making seriously, or he would be if Renee wasn't insistent on ruining everything. A new addition on his little list was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. 

"You're really funny, hysterical even," Elliott grumbled, snatching his list of Renee's hands before she could deface it anymore. She frowned at him as he crumpled it a little before curiosity got the better of him, he had to know what was written. Glancing down, Elliott almost choked at her little addition before he made sure this time to make a paper ball and hurled it at her head.

Renee caught it, of course. Pesky voices not even letting him get away with his dignity as she tossed it back, and it bounced off his chest when he wasn't fast enough to catch it. That was totally cheating.

"Elliott Witt, you are a baby."

"You're a baby," Elliott mocked, snatching his paper off the floor because he just cleaned that, and there was no way he would live down someone finding that as he tucked it in his back pocket for safekeeping.

Renee, to her credit, only bared her teeth at him, the little gremlin pointing a finger at him as if she could tell he was calling her names in his head before she pulled the concerned mom face. Shit. "What are you so afraid of? Out of everyone else I've seen Bloodhound interact with, you're the only person I've seen who they let pet their bird. The worst thing they can say is no."

"Uh, are you forgetting who we're talking about? This is the person we watched take five knives out of nowhere once, five. I'm pretty sure they had more, but it only took five of them before the security gave up and just let them pass."

That was a pleasant memory; Elliott could vividly recall how the devs had demanded all the legends stop sneaking weapons onto the dropship and set up a metal detector. Bloodhound set it off every single time they walked through, and for every attempt, they pulled out yet another wickedly long hunting knife from their coat until finally, the security guard gave up. It was a little funny at the time, maybe even a tiny bit sexy, but Elliott wouldn't ever admit to that. Probably. "What if my conf-confec-ugh. What if I say my feelings and they get offended? I'm too pretty to die."

"Pretty annoying, yeah," Renee muttered; Elliott made an offended noise before she reached out to set a hand on his arm. "Elliott, they're not going to stab you for having feelings. I mean, if they don't already know. You're kind of obvious."

"Me? I am so subtle!"

Renee stared at him for a moment, her gaze going from the top of his perfectly styled curls, the sleek yellow silk shirt that sparkled under the lights with every movement, the black leather pants and his designer ankle boots before staring him in the face.

"...okay, I meant I'm subtle about my feelings."

"You shot yourself in the foot the last time you teamed up with them because they complimented your wingman shot; you cracked your shield, Elliott. That isn't subtle."

He had done that.

Elliott winced at the memory, having taken down Bang's team with a few well-placed shots, and the next thing he knew, Bloodhound was clapping him on the shoulder. Murmuring how he'd done a powerful slatra of the enemy, and Elliott had tried to play it off, spinning his wingman around his finger to holster except the safety wasn't on. He'd struck his foot, the loud crack of his shield startling everyone there, and he wanted to die a little when they'd sweetly offered him a battery,

"Renee, you promised you wouldn't bring that up."

"It was on national television, Elliott. You were viral for a long time."

Over two million hits in one day, it was impressive and mortifying all at once.

"Listen, my main concern for the night is having this party go well. We can talk about that after. It's not like they're going to be here anyway, you know Bloodhound doesn't do parties."

"If they show, you have to tell them." Renee bartered, Elliott trying not to grin in victory because he was right. They never did parties, they were forced into one party a year for the anniversary of the games, and that was all.

"Deal."

Elliott Witt was wrong and stupid.

Bloodhound did come, they showed up precisely on time, and Elliott had nearly cried right then and there because they even greeted him softly at the door.

"Hallo, Mirage."

"Heh-ha-heeeeey, Hound! How's it hanging?" Smooth Elliott, really smooth.

They only offered a nod, mysterious and masked like always, and they smelt faintly of firewood, gunmetal and pine. Which is to say, Elliott was sniffing them, stepping close to offer a hand to shake as they wrapped leather-covered fingers around his and squeezed. "You want a tour?"

"Nei, I think I will find myself a place. Thank you, though, Mirage."

"Hey, we're outta the ring. You can call me Elliott."

"You look...nice." They muttered, the words so faint they're almost lost amidst the chattering of legends and music, but Elliott was focused solely on them. Just hearing the compliment made something in his stomach flutter, Elliott unable to stop himself from laughing softly in surprise and rubbing a hand over his beard, pretending he could rub the colour flooding his cheeks.

Elliott had heard compliments all night, some of them about the party decor, the food, or even his outfit, but this was the one that really made him feel something. He was a little bashful, fingers lingering against theirs as he slid his hand away reluctantly before offering a delighted grin. "I think you look really nice too."

"Takk," Bloodhound murmured, the moment interrupted as Octane yelled something about beer pong, and Elliott turned his head to make sure the idiot wasn't breaking anything when Bloodhound took that moment to leave.

When he faced forward again, they were gone, having found the armchair he'd tucked off to the side of the room to make space for the dancefloor and settling in. Elliott hadn't actually intended that chair to be a spot, it was blocked off by tall potted ferns lining the dance floor, but if that's where they felt most comfortable, that was okay.

He was just really pleased they even came.

Then less pleased when he heard Lifeline scream Octane's name before Elliott heard a deafening crash. Seriously ??

Two broken tables, a broken chair, and a cracked window later and Elliott was exhausted. Offering an open bar to a bunch of people who liked chasing each other and murdering their friends was dicey, it seemed alcohol brought out the crazy. Octane wanted to jump off things, Bangalore was drunk as a skunk and offering to fistfight people, and at one point, Rev had scuttled along the ceiling, and someone had screamed.

Okay, Elliott had screamed. Who the fuck does that? What the fuck does that? It must have been illegal somewhere.

Thankfully there were some ordinary people though, Gibby had brought along a special friend who seemed like an average person who didn’t want to break things. The dude was even kinda funny, and he had a knack for making the big guy laugh loudly, I mean, he totally wasn't as amusing as Elliott, but he was alright.

Even Crypto, the bitter old man had shown up, shamed into silence by sweet angel Nat when he tried to pick a fight with Elliott. A battle Ellie would have totally won, hands down. Stupid Crypie.

Midnight was coming up fast, though, and everyone seemed to be split off into their little groups, which was kinda nice. Octane was playing DJ and entertaining Ajay, Anita, Ramp, Loba, and Path. Crypto had struck up a conversation with Nat and Renee in a corner, the three of them looking real serious about something. Even Doctor Somers was there, she was talking to Caustic of all people, but those two seemed to be hitting it off and Elliott was only a little envious. Rev was nowhere to be seen thankfully or not thankfully. Elliott cast a glance up in fear, a little relieved when he didn't see the murder bot hanging there like a spider.

Then there was Elliott; he was taking his host duties really seriously and restocking the cute little finger food trays when he felt a hand land on his shoulder, Renee was reaching to steal an appetizer. She leaned against the table, expression a lot more relaxed than Elliott had ever seen her, and there was the faintest drunken flush across her cheeks as she cast a glance to Nat and Crypto. "So, I took your advice, and Natalie said she'd love to be my new year's kiss."

"Wait, my advice worked? You took it??" Elliott tried to very subtly show his approval for his friend, laughing and dragging Renee into a hug that she slapped out of with an annoyed noise.

He knew she secretly loved it though, her mouth quirking up at the corners while she tried to hide the almost smile. "I mean of course it worked. I am not just pretty; I'm clever."

"I guess sometimes you have good ideas. Maybe you should take my advice too then, ten minutes left until the new year and I know you haven't told them."

"Awh c'mon, Renee. You know I can't just march over there and do that, I have finger foods to resto—"

'Fuck the host duties, Elliott." Renee growled; Elliott was a little surprised to hear the gremlin swear before she forcibly took the tray from his hands and he was left staring in shock at his drunk friend. Well, he was staring down in shock. She was the size of a pissed off toddler. "Go talk to them. Now. You have five minutes before I march over there and bring them to you."

"You wouldn't--" Elliott started, stopping when he saw the look in her eyes and yeah, he thought she just might. Peeking over to see if anyone was listening, Elliott froze when he noticed Bloodhound's mask was pointed in his direction before he blinked and shook it off.

Of course they weren't looking at him, he was just in the middle of the room, and that's how they were sitting. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Elliott turned back and looked at Renee, who started picking at the food on the tray and stuffing her face. "I'm scared."

"I promise I'll watch over you two, make sure they don't pull out a knife."

"Haha, really funny. You're hilarious; you know that, right?"

"You're stalling. Four minutes now." Renee murmured, Elliott swallowing hard as he realized that there is a limited amount of time left, and he cleared his throat before asking real quietly if he looked okay. Renee's gaze softened, reaching up to smooth his collar for a second before she smiled crookedly. "You're a knockout, Elliott. Now go."

So he went.

Elliott tried to quiet his racing heart down as he walked, talking himself up in his head as he kept his gaze glued to his boots. He looked great, and Bloodhound was a...they were a friend. Everything would be okay, he would go over there, chat them up a little, and he could inform Renee he tried to tell them but it didn't work out. Easy.

His palms were sweating as Elliott walked up, aware he'd reached the point of no return as he saw the bottom edge of the ferns before he jerked his head up and caught sight of them again.

Bloodhound had tucked their chair even further behind the potted plants, hidden by their little jungle but he could see they were comfortable. They'd taken off their hunting coat, the jacket casually laid over the back of the armchair, and that left them in an oversized sweatshirt that did nothing to hide how broad their shoulders were as Bloodhound cocked their head at him.

They were wearing some kind of layered outfit, a turtle neck that covered their neck completely and a baggier layer over it that mostly obscured their body from view with matching pants and thick sole boots.

Overhead, Elliott had strung up fairy lights for the room's lighting, rows and rows of soft white lights glinting off their goggles and the metal parts of their mask as Bloodhound watched him draw closer. His mouth was bone dry, tongue trying to smooth over his lips, but Elliott felt like that didn't help as he took a shallow breath before clearing his throat.

Be cool.

"H-hh-hi Bloodhound!"

"Hello, Mirage," Bloodhound answered; Elliott was telling himself they did not intentionally sound soft just for him. He only ever heard them talk in the ring; Bloodhound tended to murmur commands there, and discussed creative ways to kill their fellow legends instead of small talk. The rare moments he saw them not in a tense situation were few and far between, not for his lack of trying though. Bloodhound wasn’t a big talker, they kinda tended to offer up two-word answers and stared a lot. It was cute.

Elliott liked how their accent sounded like this, though, casual and soft. Like they were having an intimate conversation, instead of Elliott stuttering over basic words and bothering them like was currently happening.

"Are you uh, do you like the party?"

"It has been an experience." They answer after a moment, the faintest hint of something lurking in their tone as they nod toward the gathering legends with their gazes glued to the holoscreen with a large timer counting down. Shit, two minutes. "I do not attend most events, but I wished to accept your invitation for this."

"Oh, I'm glad you came," Elliott says, hoping his sincerity rings through as he glances at the dwindling amount of time until the new year before he looks back. "I know parties aren't your thing, but it makes me happy you're here."

Their blank mask doesn't change, there's no discernible way Elliott can even tell what's going on behind it, but he swears he feels them smile at him for a moment. It's kind of like being trapped in a cold dark room for years and stepping outside for the first time, feeling the warmth of the sun against your face and letting it soak into your frigid core.

His mouth curved upward, returning what he hoped was a smile from them and not Elliott developing a sudden fever or something when Octane broke the moment with a shout.

"One more minute, amigos!"

"What? That went by so fast!" Elliott sputtered, caught off guard by everything as everyone behind readies themselves.

"So it did. Do you wish to go join them for the countdown?" Bloodhound asked, nodding toward the gathering crowd of legends standing near the holoscreen and readying up their party poppers and chattering. Elliott glanced over, seeing everyone seemed to be paired up already, smiling faces turned toward the timer slowly ticking down. He almost jumped when he turned back, realizing Bloodhound was standing with their coat back on magically and looked like they were ready to go.

"Are you leaving?" Elliott blurted out, unable to stop himself from sounding disappointed as he hears everyone behind counting down from twenty.

"I do not wish to keep you longer."

"Ten, nine, eight… "

"Keep me? I'd love if you kept me."

“Mirage…”

"...Four, three, two, one! Happy New Year! "

Behind everyone breaks out in cheers, the sound of fireworks going off muffled behind the thick glass panes of the windows to the side, but they still make colours dance across the room as the legends all set off their party poppers.

Bloodhound and Elliott both watch everyone breaking off in couples, Elliott laughing when he saw Octane drag Ajay into a kiss only to get slapped a few moments later, the medic calling him a grabby jackass. He sighed wistfully, surprised when Bloodhound put a hand on his shoulder.

"Is something wrong?"

"Usually, my New Years' kiss is my mom; it sucks being so far away from home."

"A kiss is a..tradition?" They ask slowly, head tilting in that distractingly cute way, and Elliott laughs a little at how lost they sound.

"Yeah, it's about str-stren-ugh, making ties with people stronger and stuff. That or not being lonely all year." Elliott answered, gesturing to the other legends, who were either kissing or hugging one another.

The fireworks outside were still going off, shooting various colours into the sky, but that was all hard to keep track of when Bloodhound used their hand on his shoulder to pull him behind the ferns. "Uh, Hound?"

Bloodhound's hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, Elliott inhaling sharply as they yanked their respirator down, and his brain kind of shut down when their lips pressed against his. They tasted like orange juice, he realized, Bloodhound already drawing away and Elliott kind of flounders at the idea that his only kiss with Bloodhound was going to be a peck, before he wound his arms around their neck and he pulled them closer.

They gasp, fingers squeezing the back of his neck in surprise, and Elliott closes his eyes and kisses them for all he's worth. Bloodhound is stiff at first, and that's the moment he wondered if they were gonna stab him for pushing a boundary when they slowly softened and hesitantly moved their mouth under his. It felt like they were trying to copy his movements, Elliott sparing a second to wonder if maybe they didn't have a lot of experience before he thinks fuck it and licks against the closed seam of their lips.

Bloodhound shudders in his arms, lips parting on a shaky sigh, and Elliott takes advantage to lick past their teeth, and it's extra confirmed they were drinking juice all night when he gets an actual taste. It's endearing and hot, and all the positive things he can't think of at the moment because he was currently kissing Bloodhound like his life depended on it. Honestly, it just might if this pissed them off.

They gradually relaxed further though, the hands that were gripping his neck and now balled in his shirt as Elliott rocks up on his toes to press against them fully. They were a little taller than him, something he was secretly thrilled about as his hands slid from their neck and down their arms for a moment when Bloodhound pulled away with a soft gasp.

They were breathing hard, Elliott cursing the fact they were tucked away in such a dark corner because he could only see part of their face and the parts he almost made out were gorgeous. Kiss swollen lips, faint spiderwebs of scars laced along their cheeks and jaw, and—

"Hound?" Elliott asked concerned when they sounded like they were choking between pants, a hand lifting as if to ward him off for a moment as they lifted their respirator back in place to take a measured breath with a soft hiss. It's then that it connects that they might need the thing, Elliott parting his lips on an apology when they use the hand they were holding in front of him to cup his cheek instead. Leather rubs over his cheekbone softly, Bloodhound breathing deeper breaths from their respirator and he settles down.

"Do not worry, vinur. I was surprised; you had taken my breath."

Now Elliott knew they meant literally, but he couldn't help the soft smile curling his lips at the idea of Bloodhound calling him breathtaking as he leans into their palm for a second. He was still worried, but already they seemed to be back to normal as he could see the deep and even breaths they were taking. "You took my breath too, but in a good way. I uhm, I don't know if you meant the kiss to be romantic, but I--"

"It was meant to convey romantic feelings, yes." They interrupt, their tone brooking no argument, and Elliott gapes at them like a big dumb fish for a second before they rub a gloved thumb over his bottom lip, and he snaps his mouth closed with a flush. "I apologize for using your tradition for such a thing, but I could not let the opportune moment pass."

"I u-uh, y-yha- uh." God, he was choking so hard. Elliott felt his face heat more, cursing his stutter as he blabbered more broken consonants before taking a sharp breath and recalling something. Reaching into his back pocket Elliott takes out the crumpled paper, holding it out to Bloodhound, who glances at it before delicately accepting and smoothing it out. When they get to the last line, he can see fingers tightening on the paper before they raise their head to look at him.

"I like you; please date me." Elliott manages to get out, almost impressed by how smooth that came out, considering he was blubbering random noises a second ago. Bloodhound doesn't answer right away, well, verbally anyway.

A hand settles back on his face, Bloodhound already pulling their respirator down again, and this time Elliott is very ready for the kiss they plant on him. Unknown to either of them, Renee is watching, holding out a twenty-dollar bill, which Natalie takes gleefully.

"For someone who can see the future, you are quite bad at bets."

"I blame Elliott; he's too slow."

"The hand on Bloodhound's butt says otherwise," Crypto mutters, gagging into his drink and Renee can't help but smirk a little. Yeah, she was definitely going to tell Elliott about that later. Maybe after he finished making out with his new date-mate, the trio tilting their heads as they watched Elliott shove Bloodhound against the wall, and Renee swiftly put a hand over Natalie's eyes when it gets a lot more R-rated.

Maybe she would hold off telling him until tomorrow. They looked like they would be busy for a while.

Renee’s mouth ticks up into a smile.

Finally.

[shadedrose01]

Tony the Teddy

Ship: None. Platonic (parental/paternal) relationship between Peter Parker and Tony Stark

Summary: Peter loses his teddy bear, and gains something more.

Tags: Febufluff, Day 10, Teddy Bears, Peter Has a Teddy Bear, His name is Tony, But Tony and Tony Stark are not the same thing/person, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Aunt May is a good aunt whos just trying her best, Mentions of uncle ben - Freeform, Light Angst, Peter is a sad boy for a bit in this, But Tony Stark makes it better, Fluff, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Tony Stark is a Good Dad, Tony Stark Has A Heart

Day ten of Febufluff: "Teddy Bear"! (From the platonic list)

--

There was one constant in Peter's life growing up. When everything around him was swirled into chaos at the age of 7, when his parents got onto a plane and never came home, his uncle ben knelt down in front of him, told him the heartbreaking news, and gave him something.

A stuffie. A plush teddy bear with soft fabric in the shape of Iron Man's armour, apparently a gift his mother had planned to give him for his birthday but never got the chance to. Ben had given it to him, and had reassured him that he was so strong, as strong as a real life superhero, as strong as Iron Man, and that they'd get through this, the pain, the grief, the loss, together.

And Peter had held onto it tight, tears in his eyes and running down his cheeks, and had promised to his parents, to his uncle Ben and his Aunt May, and to himself that he would never let it go, no matter what. Later that month, Peter would be sat in front of the tv, eyes glued to the screen and holding the teddy close as Tony Stark announced that he was Iron Man. From that point on, the bear was named Tony.

Tony stayed by his side throughout his roller coaster of a life. Dragged behind him during the few childhood years he had left, as a shoulder to cry on whenever the bullies got too much and a buddy to talk to while he had no friends. Then, when he found Ned and grew out of the age where bringing around a Teddy bear was acceptable, Tony stayed home, but he was always on Peter's bed, always there, a constant presence and reminder of warmth, comfort and love, of security and safety, and home.

Then Ben died, right in front of his eyes, in his arms, and Peter's life was flipped upside down again, but still, Tony was there. He remembers coming home from the hospital, still coated in dried up blood, his uncles blood, blood that was split because of him, it was all because of him, all his fault-, and grabbing the bear as soon as he hits his bed, burying his face into it and sobbing loudly, his river of tears soaking into the matted fur. But he had remembered his uncle's words, "With great power comes great responsibility", had remembered that he was strong, that he had to be strong for his aunt and had pulled himself together, and had pushed forward, even as he longed to give up.

Everything after that was a blur, becoming Spider-Man on a whim, meeting the real Tony Stark, fighting in Germany, the 'internship', the vulture, homecoming, the real internship. It all happened so fast, and yet, there Tony was, still sat on his bed like all those years ago, looking worn and torn from good use, but still there, still kicking, still around.

But now, Peter couldnt find him. He couldnt find him, and he was freaking out.

Peter was searching his room, practically tearing it apart trying to find the precious stuffie. Where could he be? He was on the bed this morning, Peter knows, he remembers him being in his normal spot before he left for school, but now hes not there, hes not anywhere, and he knows Happy is going to be there soon, and he cant find Tony-

"Peter? Are you ready?" His aunt calls out from the living room, and Peter shakes his head violently, anxiously, still checking under his bed and around his drawers for any sign of the Iron Man plushie.

"I can't find Tony." He calls back, his actions getting more frantic as he searches places hes already checked again and again, his chest tighten and stomach dropping more and more as time goes on. He needs to find him, he has to-

"Tony?" Aunt May sounds amused but her show show her concern as he rounds the corner to his room, not even flinching at the scattered mess of it. "Isn't he who you're going to see?"

Peter groans, stopping momentarily to run his hands through his hair. "No! I mean, yes, but not the same one!" At his aunt's puzzled look, Peter expands on his explanation. "You know, the teddy bear? Iron man costume, kinda- kinda frizzy looking?"

His aunt's eyes brighten with recognition, but also with confusion, and a hint of guilt. "Ohhh, that guy? I thought you weren't into stuffies anymore, so I gave him away."

Peter chokes on his spit, his heart breaking, eyes widening. "You- you did?! May! Uncle Ben gave him to me, and he was from my parents!" His voice is high pitched, shaky and loud as tears burning his eyes, feeling ripples of loss rushing through his body. It feels like losing his parents, losing Ben all over again.

Aunt May makes a noise of sympathy and her face scrunches up with guilt, a downward tilt to her lips. She reaches forward and places a hand onto his cheek, rubbing her thumb back and forth soothingly. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry, I thought it would be fine, I didn't think it would hurt you-"

"It-its okay." He sniffles, blinking back his tears and forcing a smile on to his face as he stands, swallowing back the lump in his through. "You're right, I should be over it by now."

His aunt's face scrunches even more, her face turning even more gut wrenchingly guilty. "No, baby, that's not-"

Peter feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, and, knowing it was from Happy, takes his escape as soon as physically possible. "I think Happy's here, I gotta go." He hears Aunt May call after him as he pushes past her and out the door, getting into the awaiting convertible quickly.

He isn't mad at his aunt, or blame her for getting rid of the teddy, she didnt know any better. She didnt know how important he was to Peter, but it still hurts, even though Peter knows it shouldn't. Its just a teddy bear, but he still finds himself wiping away stubborn tears the entire drive to the compound, feeling one small inconvenience away from sobbing his heart out.

He says a small thank you to Happy once they finally arrive, not noticing the man's worries stare as he takes a deep breath and makes his way to his mentor's lab, the doors opening immediately for him.

As soon as he walks into the room, Mr. Stark is already on his case, looking up from his project with a concerned frown, eyebrows furrowed. "Hey kid, everything alright? Happy said you were quiet on the way over."

Peter shakes his head and reinforces the fake smile on his face, hating the way his cheeks twitch with the effort. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay." His voice is quiet, subdued even to his own ears as he walks to his station, picking up a pair of tweezers even if he has no plan to use them.

Mr. Stark snorts at him, giving him a look. "Yeeeeah, you see, Happy also told me that you were crying the entire way up here too, and that little act you're trying to pull isn't sitting so well with me right now, bud." Peter just stares down at his table and shrugs, watching as the tools get blurrier and blurrier as wetness fills his eyes again. Mr. Starks tone softens significantly as he places a hand on to Peter's shoulder. "Come on, Pete, what's going on in the head of yours, hm?"

Peter sniffs and wipes his eyes with his sleeve, mumbling. "It's stupid."

Mr. Stark rubs a thumb against his shoulder reassuringly. "If its upsetting you, it isn't stupid, kid."

"It is. It's just a teddy bear." Even as hard as he tries to keep his composure, his voice cracks at the end of his sentence, his eyes fill up again and he breaks as soon as the words are out of his mouth, placing a hand up to his lips as the first loud sobs echoes in the room.

Mr. Stark makes a small noise, before pulling him into his chest, holding him tightly as Peter sobs, soaking his old, ratty tshirt with his tears, hand curled into the fabric as he spills everything, how his uncle gave him the bear when it was little, how it came from his parents, all they've been through together, and mostly how much it meant to him. It takes a few minutes for Peter to calm back down again, and as much as he hates to admit it, he feels quite a bit better now that the tightness in his chest has ceased, the grip on his lungs loosening slightly as he got everything off his chest.

"See?" Peter chuckles wetly, sniffling. "Stupid."

"Look at me, bud." Mr. Stark pulls away, and thumbs away the wetness still littering his cheeks, tilting his head up to make sure he's looking him in the eye. "Just because it's a stuffed teddy bear doesnt mean it didnt mean a lot to you," Peter goes to rebuttal, but Mr. Stark blows over him. "And just because you know your aunt didn't mean to, its allowed to hurt. You're allowed to feel this way, Pete, it shows that you care." He smiles gently at the boy, who smiles back shakily.

"Yeah, I-I guess so."

"I know so." Mr. Stark states like it's a fact, patting Peter's cheeks and causing him to giggle, the sound making Mr. Starks entire face soften. "Feel better now?"

Peter nods firmly, smiling easily now. "Yeah, think so... thank you, Tony."

"Of course." The older man gives his shoulders one last squeeze before letting go completely and stepping back, walking back towards his project, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Now that we're done with all that emotional shit, wanna help me on this?"

Peter just grins back at him. "Hell yeah."

A few days later, when Peter comes back for his internship again, a stuffed Iron Man teddy bear is sat at his station. Theres no note or anything attached to it, and Mr. Stark never brings it up, but Peter knows it's from him. And, as he watches the man working in the corner of his eye, he smiles softly down at the teddy bear, his heart warm. He may have lost Tony the teddy, and one of his last connections to his parents and his uncle, but maybe, just maybe, he can make some new memories with this little guy by his side. New memories with his friends, with his new father figure, and his new family as a whole.

[svnnysidevp]

ship meme for All hehe

𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗲  /  * accepting  !

are u ready 4 this . zimzalabim

𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆 & 𝒔𝒚𝒅  !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  syd solely because lane is a little bitch n refuses to cook whenever he sees so much as a spiderweb in the kitchen

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  uhhh kinda wanna say lane once he gets over all his issues w commitment :) it’ll take a while but he’ll get there n it’ll be a nice cute quiet romantic dinner !

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  lane no question abt it that is a period full stop

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  lane on the sexual front syd on the romantic side ? but lane can be romantic too if / when he feels like it !

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  lane . he alrdy did it once so i mean :) but after the whole fake dating thing he wouldn’t find a reason to leave anymore :)

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  syd mayb just bc of the way lane is NJKSDNFDS

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  LANE

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  lane mostly sends cooking recipes and syd sends lil writer’s blurbs abt characters / plots he might forget in the morning so like both ig

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  LANE

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  mmm syd !

𝒂𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏 & 𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒚  !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  aspen sets it free somewhere on the back porch she cant kill spiders : (

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  aspen !

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  nelly mayb ! during one of their nice nights together just hangin out n getting high she jus leans in n aspen has lowkey been waiting for this for a while :’)

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  aspen !

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  nelly since thats the plot NSJKDNFS she was less committed than aspen was and when they both realized that it was a sobfest ha ha

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  aspen at first but then nelly later on when aspen finally finds someone else and she realizes what she’s been missing this whole time

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  close compet but im gna say nelly , simply because she’s the one who invites aspen over to take naps all the time

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  nelly ! aspen always quick to reply tho :/

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  nelly 

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  aspen no doubt !

𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒐 & 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂  !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  milo ! but he doesnt kill the spider either just lets it out the window .

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  milo is the more romantic one so it would be him !

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  evika . milo gets hard almost immediately its so embarrasing . NJKSNDJFS 

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  evika !

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  evika , maybe ! she doesnt want to ruin him but honestly milo’s felt more alive than he ever has with her around

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  evika , especially when milo gets a gf while theyre still makin sex tapes 

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  evika !

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  well theyre like . roomies so they dont rly send texts NJKSDNF but mayb evika ?

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  LOL evika no contest

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  milo bc he cant help the sap :/

𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒋𝒖 & 𝒍𝒚𝒍𝒆  !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  lyle hehe

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  if we’re talking abt proposing their whole cheatin situation it was probably definitely heeju who was like “ what she doesnt know wont hurt her :) “

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  heeju ( see above )

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  heeju !

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  mmm heeju , mayb ? it cld be either of them ngl LOL

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  heeju is awfully possessive over her sister’s boyfriend :) likes to remind him who she does belong to when shes giving him head in the family bathroom

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  heeju who will do anything to not get a real job LOL

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  lyle sends her cute lil sketches that hes worked on . heeju saves them all even if she doesnt reply to any of them to avoid looking like she’s been waiting for his texts :/

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  heeju ! shes a good camgirl for a reason

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  heeju ! or maybe they said it at the same time tbh who knows they just rly like the sex NJSKDNFS

𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 & 𝒌𝒊𝒚𝒂 !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  kiya ! moses is big baby scared of spiders : (

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  LMAO moses probably ! he does it when theyre both drunk and after their fifth round of sex for the night and hes high on life and love and is like fuck it lets do it baby i know the law

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  moses !

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  MOSES !

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  MOSES do u see the pattern here NKJSDNFS

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  kiya doesn’t get jealous much bc she believes that whatever she and moses has is real and he only loves her : ( moses only gets jealous when hes around and can see her hanging w someone else and takes it upon himself to fuck her into remembering who she belongs to ! 

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  moses :)

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  moses but theyre mostly just booty calls and sexts and half hearted “miss u”s

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  moses !

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  moses ! because hes a fool . and kiya’s a fool for saying it right back . :)

𝒍𝒆𝒙 & 𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏 !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  lex !

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  aH probably lex because he’s a lil meticulous like that and would have everything planned down to a T !

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  arian ! lex did a lot of planning for this fake dating but was always scared to initiate anything physical so arian had to do it for him :)

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  LEX ! again , if it isnt anything physical hehe when it comes to like dates or w/E

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  arian’s ex would probably come back to him first bc lex is a big dick LOL but honestly at that point lex would feel more for arian than his own ex-boyfriend so he’d be the one left behind rip

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  lex !

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  arian ! lex does a lot all the time he is a walking bullet journal .

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  arian ! 

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  arian !

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  lex ! it freaks him out a bit bc falling in love was not part of the plan but once he did fall he couldnt stop it so here he is … just a guy standing in front of a guy .. asking him to leave his bf and choose him instead !

𝒄𝒆𝒍 & 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒐𝒙 !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  cel !

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  maddox ! cel would be surprised but it wld also warm her emotionally stunted heart : (

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  cel ! it was by their favorite tree and after they’d had yet another argument . it escalated v quickly after that .

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  both of them ! they fuck like bunnies . anywhere n everywhere . its so embarrassing like pls there r children here … NJSKDFNSJDF

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  cel would b the first to distance herself if she felt like they were getting too close again ? she doesnt think she deserves anything happy . tragic !

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  both of them ! they’re both equally possessive over someone they claim isn’t theirs !

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  maddox !

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  maddox ! cel replies to none of them but thinks abt them the rest of the day .

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  cel !

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  cel . they were drunk n she was affectionate n she missed him : (

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 & 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  no one ! peter is fond of spiders he keeps them in a jar or lets them out the window as per mason’s request

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  peter ! he’d stumbled over his words the whole time but he powered thru bc his love for mason outweighed everything else :(

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  mason ! after his theatre showcase at the camp . peter turned pink from head to toe .

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  mason ! peter is a big baby when it comes to relationship tingz seeing as he’s never been in one so mason would have to take the lead and be patient with him re: everything :(

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  mason would be more likely to but tbh neither of them bc theyre the best boys and love each other too much to do that the end .

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  peter ! cue that whole summer of him giving mason crush advice for SOMEONE ELSE like a fool !

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  mason ! he’s influenced peter and now there r days they both stay in bed cuddling until noon .

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  mason ! peter replies to all of them tho dont worry :(

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  mason !

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  peter . he backtracked over his words and frantically reminded mason that if he didnt feel the same way it was fine and there was no rush ( internally he was like haha please dont break my heart :( .. ) but the sigh of relief he felt when mason said he loved him too ? BREATHTAKIN !

𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏 & 𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒊 , og legends !

𝐰𝐡𝐨   .  .  .  .

001. .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?  levi .

002. .   .   .   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ?  levi . it was a shotgun wedding . only one other of brooke’s sisters , half stoned , turned up as witness .

003.  .   .   .   𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  levi ! it was bound to happen though , after all the incessant flirting and back and forths . inevitable .

004.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ?  both of them ! 

005.  .   .   .   𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ?  both , too . theyre both equally bad for each other it’s . heartwarming :)

006.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ?  arden , initially . then when she and xun started hangin out more levi turned into that :eyes: emoji so fast

007.  .   .   .   𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 ?  levi ! 

008.  .   .   .   𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝟑𝐀𝐌 ?  levi ! it’s mostly just him telling arden he misses her . or the bed emoji . either way arden comes for him anyway .

009.   .   .   .  𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ?  both !

010.   .   .   .  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ?  arden . the first time she says it to levi is when they’re on the rooftop of her sorority house havin sex . the night sky is pretty and the music is muffled from beneath them and levi sounds so nice moaning as she ride him prompts it to slip from her lips ! her heart stops a bit but then levi says he loves her too and it’s okay again , they’re okay again ( more than okay as he continues to help her chase her own orgasm on his dick ! ).

[lenjaminmacbuttons]

Hope you’re doing okay, I know there’s been a lot going on the past couple weeks. 🌈🌈💛💛

FOOF YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN

thank you for the good vibes anon, i love you and it means a lot to me. however unfortunately now im gonna use this to vent dump exactly how much has been going on the past couple weeks off the top of my head. this is actually pretty far from Everything thats happen but im so tired and dont want to think about any of it anymore

my grandma passed away last week. we were prepared for it and we know she’s at peace in a better place et cetera et cetera, her body was all full of restraints & impediments that she doesnt have to deal with anymore and the next time she’s in a body it’ll be all New And Improved and awesome. i missed so much work in anticipation of this that now i can’t get work off on the day of the funeral, so i can still go to it but i’ll have to go immediately to work right from it and have to pretend everythings fine and dandy and nothings going on.

everyone at work Does know there’s something going on however and the two coworkers i have who are actually like i consider them friends mostly they’re all like Hey Im Here For You Talk About Your Feelings Honestly with me and i. dont. want. to talk about my feelings at work. thats not what work is for and i dont like talking about my feelings anyway and i dont want them to ask anymore

the changes to the handbook and the honor code have completely sunk my heart. i had so much hope up until those hideous ridiculous unfathomably transphobic things they wrote and now i don’t feel like i can trust or have hope in ANYTHING the institution does anymore. ive been up all night going back and forth over whether i want to go to church today. or ever again. it’s not bringing me joy. it’s making me feel anxious and depressed and frustrated and alone. i keep seeing people just on the street or on facebook who are so happy and content with the church and whatever it does and i just…i get struck every single time with this thought of “they don’t care about me. they don’t care about any of these problems. they’re not affected personally by it and so they don’t care.”

and then that makes me feel like such a hypocrite because!!! ive been them too for so long!! what makes this moment so different!!!!! why is this the straw that breaks the camel’s back when the camel should have thrown off the whole burden and run to join its friends at the first strike of the owner’s whip!!!!!!

plus it’s making me feel gross about my mormon memes blogs. idk if i can keep running those anymore.

im failing this semester anyway and i keep getting emails about it. i was planning to take a break from school After this semester but ive missed so much class that i just really can’t go back to any of them so i guess im just dropping out right now. as much as i’d love to participate in all the incredible amazing protests going on right now i really really cant be on campus at all without feeling literally physically ill. and my Hope was to do really well this last semester and then submit mission papers and that way i’d know exactly what next to do with my life until i decide what After, and id be able to Get Out somewhere and travel someplace while still feeling like my life has some semblance of structure and direction. however! HOWEVER!!!!!!!!

i’ve been feeling so, so horrible and so worn down and i dont even know where or what my testimony is anymore. but that’s probably a lot lower on the list of Why I Can’t Serve A Mission, because a. i still don’t trust my Local Bishop enough to talk to him about things The Handbook says to b. i am finding it harder and harder and harder to be perceived as female. i never really have dysphoria about my body or my presentation or anything but like, when people say Sister and Ma’am and Miss and Daughter and Hey Pretty Lady It’s Me Your Relief Society President it’s like…that’s not me. that feels gross. and i wear suits and ties to church, have done so for a while and never get any flak for it, and im gradually working up the nerve to maybe start introducing myself as lev or levi instead of lillie buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut. socially transitioning apparently is not allowed.

not to mention my temple recommend expired ages ago anyway. anxiety about bishops prevented me from ever going in for an interview to renew it. i haven’t visited the temple once since before graduating high school. but every time i see it or think about it i long for it so badly and it hurts so much.

and also like, i get that same kinda horrible regretful longing feeling whenever i hear violin music? because i played violin for a few years and then stopped but i still have the instrument because it was given to me by my grandmother. who played it herself until sickness wouldn’t let her anymore and she entrusted it to me and i Stopped Playing but then i hoped to pick it up enough to at least learn how to play her favorite song and aw wouldn’t that be so nice to play that for her on her violin except i never actually got around to printing out the sheet music or practicing At All. and now she’s gone.

and one of the last things she said to me was that she would love to hear my book since her eyesight was too gone to read it so i said i’d record it as soon as i got the right software/hardware to do that and then i never did that either. also i promised alla yalls that book would be Published Published coming up on four months ago now and i still haven’t done that

i took a pair of safety scissors to my forearms as mentioned in a previous post and surprise surprise, the lines have not healed still, it’s getting warmer outside and thus harder to wear long sleeves, and guess what! a while ago on a separate occasion i complained that i kinda wished my self harm scars looked more like the classic cutter lines and Now They Do!! And I Hate It!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and a couple nights ago my little sister saw them and so i told her i got attacked by a spider-pawed bear and fortunately my brother Understands and backed me up like “dang what do they teach in schools these days i cant believe youve never heard of the spider-pawed bears that live in the mountains and are totally normal and real”

and steven universe is ending. that’s a thing.

and like….okay. not everything in my emotions right now is bad. some of it is just complicated. one coworker friend i have recently confessed that she’s had a crush on me for several months now. fortunately when she said this i was able to be honest and say that im not super eager for a relationship right now, im not ready in the slightest to settle down or anything, im still hung up on my high school crush and also dealing with issues from my last relationship, and she replied that’s all perfectly fine and she doesn’t have any expectations and she’s great being friends and we can take things at whatever pace is good

except i also now have a date with said high school crush loosely planned for tomorrow and i told this coworker friend about it and she admitted it’s making her a little jealous and then she said jealous is an ugly word and amended it to Insecure and i feel bad about that

but i also like. am really excited for this date. like it’s not really a for sure romantic capital-d Date and that’s fine, but i haven’t seen this friend irl for so long and ive been missing her so much over this past little while that we’ve been internet chatting and that ive been i guess officially falling back in love with her but i also like, i dont know what her deal is romantically right now i don’t want to presume anything but i really really really am itching to see her

work is stressful. it’s only gonna get more so as weather gets warmer. but we’re getting two new managers with loads of experience and glowing reviews next week. i have hope that they’ll makes things a little lighter.

and there’s also. good things. peridot took off her visor for the first time ever in canon and i saved like 50 different gifs of it to my computer cus it rocked my world. sonic has she-ra toys for the kids meals and i managed to snag a tiny inflatable version of the sword. i’m making cosplays of the tres horny boys from the adventure zone and they’re all very exciting and making things makes me very very happy. i’m finding joy in all the fanfictions i’m writing right now and in talking about dungeons & dragons with my brothers and friends. ducknerva is a very beautiful Good Ending version of marahope which makes me happy and taako is a super effective projection outlet. i bought cupcakes today and they were delicious. and when i think about those good things, when i think about any good thing no matter how small, everything else disappears.

whatever happens happens i guess.

she who lives will see.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 6

That’s Right!  After a year of life happening to me, I finally got my priorities in order and got around to writing Chapter 6!

Thank you everyone who was so patient with me, and thank you to all the new people who have been reading the first five chapters in the last 24 hours.

A very special shout out to @ritualistic-raven, @livinlifeasithappens, who have been very encouraging in the most real, low key ways.  Also, @writer-gurl-who-doesnt-write, because you have kept me motivated all day, despite the fact that you just found my blog. Finally, @canimallow, @seperis, and @the-firstofhername just for writing so much and inspiring me to get back on the horse.

Finally, when my back didn’t hurt anymore, the Miys agreed that I would be allowed to visit Tyche.  My mouth was dry just imagining what I would say to her…. I hadn’t seen her face to face since the End.  Out of fear, I had never even taken the time to imagine if she was alive or dead.  Needless to say, finding out she was alive and raising bloody hell was a balm to the remains of my soul.

“It is a long walk, Enhancer,” the Miys tried to explain.  Despite numerous attempts to explain that ‘ph’ and ‘f’ were identical sounds, the Miys could tell a difference in the vibrations, and refused to just call me “Sofeya”. Very phonetic, the Miys. So, until a suitable nickname was found, they kept calling me ‘Enhancer’.

So. Annoying.

Really, everything was annoying me at this point.  I had been on bed rest for what felt like forever, but had actually only been about two weeks of conscious time. Knowing that my sister was so close had been a burning itch under my skin the entire time. In the decade since the world ended, I had just grown used to the idea that everyone I loved was gone, forever.  Finding out that the only person in my family who actually mattered was still alive and raising Hell had been more than I ever dreamed.

Which is why I was currently hobbling along with a very agitated and concerned hippo-spider behind me.  I had grown so used to the Miys’ appearance that it was actually kind of adorable to see them wringing all of their hands and making the whirring noise I had learned meant anxiety.

As we travelled along, I took the opportunity to observe and learn my surroundings.  The hallways were smooth, with a distinctly inorganic feel, almost like river stone or beach glass. It was very serene, but efficient.  Noticeable in their absence were directional markers and navigational indicators, however.  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense: When you are the only crew member on the ship, essentially, what need would you have for methods to find your way around?  The Miys was literally everywhere at the same time.

And I do mean everywhere.  I could not travel ten paces without seeing one of their bodies.  At first, the lack of acknowledgement when my chaperone and another body passed each other was disconcerting; Even after ten years of the End, I was still very ingrained to greet every person I saw unless I was deliberately avoiding being noticed.

Poor thing.  The Miys actually had to ask me to cease greeting it about a quarter of the way across the ship. I was slightly embarrassed as I realized that I probably sounded like an over-excited toddler, repeatedly saying “hello” to the same person.

After about an hour of walking, the Miys surrendered and let out a low-pitched hum that sounded like a groan. “Enhancer, can we please take a transport? You have made your point, you are well.  However, I fail to understand how you are having six different thoughts at once, and have been for the entire walk.  To minimize the sheer amount that you are thinking at me, can we please take a faster method?”

Oops.  Apparently that part did not show up in their rigorous documentation on my personality traits. Both my sister and I had a tendency to think about several things at a time. “Sorry.  Yeah, let’s take a transport. I didn’t mean to think at you, I just don’t know how to not do it.”

“Can you please stop that rhythmic, repetitive thought?”

“That one, I can’t do anything about. It’s music, and I always sing in my head.” Tyche had always joked that I had multiple processors in my brain, and processor three was broken and only played music.

“Can you ‘sing’ something better?”

“Hey, I like Sara Bareilles.”

“But… that is not how gravity works?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

We filled the remainder of the trip across the ship with conversation about Terran music, which I was not particularly knowledgeable about on a technical scale. However, it followed the same movements as Terran literature (which the Miys knew I had a degree in), so it kept us occupied until we arrived at what were apparently Tyche’s quarters.

As soon as the transport stopped, my trepidation and anticipation hit so powerfully that the Miys actually stumbled while escorting me to the door.

“You are – afraid? – of your sibling, but are also excited? How is one excited about fear?”

“That’s an entirely separate discussion,” I sighed.  “I’m not afraid of her, I’m afraid of her being angry or disappointed in what I’ve become. However, I have not seen her since very shortly after the Earth blew itself into anachronism, so I’m also very happy and excited that she is alive.”

“Ah,” The Miys replied. “thank you for explaining. When I ask those questions of Tyche, she just says ‘it’s a thing’ and does this,” as it waved it’s smaller left hand in a vague gesture.

“Yeah,” I sighed in relief. “That’s Tyche. Usually that means that all her brain function in taken and she doesn’t have any left to dedicate to finding words.”

“Yes,” the Miys said in a very deep, exasperated, and all-too-human tone. “You both think about so many things at a time, I am constantly surprised either of you can function. And I have thousands of bodies!  As such, I will decidedly not be joining you in Tyche’s rooms, instead observing via video relay that Tyche has consented to, as she knows we find her very entertaining and informational.”

I chuckled at that. “Not many humans on board that strongly atypical.” It was not by any means a question. Tyche was the most unique person I had ever met in my life.

“Precisely. We have four: two have declined video relay installation in their quarters, and the fourth has not yet consented or declined.”

Out of close to 10,000 humans on board, that was an extremely small population. I could understand why they found my sister so entertaining: I thought she was amazing, but I was strongly biased.

Finally, quelling my trepidation, I mustered up the courage to tap the request for entry.  I expected a cool greeting and an expertly arched eyebrow, followed quickly by a sarcastic comment.  My Tyche was always conscious of her demeanor, with a razor wit and acerbic tongue ready for any occasion.

All I saw was a flurry of black and grey before I was slammed on my back against the deck. High pitched squeals pierced my ears, and out of the corner of my eye I could see my chaperone beating a hasty retreat.  Something started hitting my torso, and by the time my brain caught up, I realized that the blur was Tyche, she had tackled me while squealing, and she was currently sitting on me while punching my brand new torso. My normally restrained sister had glomped me.

“Hey!” I cried half-heartedly while I struggled to contain laughter and tears at the same time. “I just bought that, knock it off!”

“I’ll knock your fucking head off if you vanish for that long again!” She shouted with a wide smile on her face. Ah, there was the sister I knew.

We collapsed into a pile of laughter for a moment, only stopping when I heard a very unexpected noise coming from the direction of her door.

“Squerk?”

I stopped laughing immediately to listen.

“Prrow?”

My eyes must have been as wide as saucers when I looked up at the giggling heap that was still sitting on me. “Tyche. Is that a cat?”

She laughed even harder. “Shit. Yeah… check this out.”

Tyche let me up off the deck while she turned to pick up the source of the plaintive cry: a massive black cat with enormous green eyes.

“Holy rabies, trust you to keep up the family tradition through the end of the world,” I breathed.

“Oh, no no no no no no,” she corrected me jubilantly. “He is not just any black cat. This little void-muffin is Mac 3.0.”

“Nuh uh,” I shook my head violently, my new spine complaining. “No way.” Our family had always, always owned at least one black cat.  When I was in college, our previous black cat passed away and one week later, Mac found me. I had been walking to class, and I heard the most pitiful cry coming from a car.  It turned out that this tiny black ball of floof had crawled up in the engine to be warm, and could not get out. Two hours later, he was free and I had a cat.  When the world ended, I assumed he had died with everyone else I loved.

“Yes huh,” Tyche retorted, pulling me out of my memories. “When it all went down, Mac actually stuck around. He brought a kitten home one day, a little queen that looked just like him. I assume it was his daughter. Well, Mac took on a fox and lost, but Mac 2.0 had exactly one litter, and this fucker is the only one that survived.”

I am not exaggerating about the black cats. We never look for them: They find us. Often in the weirdest ways.

“How did you get Noah to let you bring him on board?” the awe evident in my voice.  Above us, a sound like a throat clearing. The Miys and I had a running joke about me calling them Noah, and them correcting me. I was too absorbed in what constituted a family reunion to pay any mind other than registering the noise.

“I demanded it,” she shrugged eloquently while gesturing for me to enter her quarters. “I explained how important pets are to Terrans, how they reduce stress levels and anxiety, and I explained that domesticated animals were not likely to survive if left behind. And, really, the pets didn’t screw up the planet… Why punish the innocent?”  Her eyes held a look of wide eyed conviction that I knew in my bones she had never genuinely made in her life. Tyche was a firebrand, not a waif.

“So, you were going to a new place and needed at least one person who you knew would support you so long as you kept his crunchies filled, huh?” I asked with a smile and raised eyebrow.

“HOW DO YOU DO THAT!?” blared from the ceiling.  Whoops. The Miys had no eyebrows, so that particular gesture fascinated them.

Just to be contrary, Tyche also cocked an eyebrow, inciting a groan-noise from the speakers. “I was very sincere. In fact, they brought a significant amount of pets along with us. Upwards of forty thousand, I think?”

“60,328,” came the chagrined voice-from-above as Tyche cackled. “We found that the symbiotic domestics are very important to human survival.”

“Annnnnd?” my sister drawled, directly facing the source of the sound.

“And human relationship to their domestics reminds us of blagnarh,” it sighed, clearly used to her shenanigans. “Which we did not bring with us.”

“What the hell is – “ I started.

She cut me off, “A six foot centipede. Don’t ask for a photo, I did, and. No. Just no. Nope. Nope rope with legs.” Considering the hiss she used at the end of the sentence, I decided to leave it alone. Since she was an artist in a former life, I was going to take her word on the overall creepy-factor that ‘six foot centipede’ conjured in my poor brain.

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[eversweet-imagines]

Mine - a Peter Parker/ Spiderman imagine

Woah two Tom Holland imagines in one day! Ya girl got a new obsession.

“Hey Pete! It’s Y/N…but you already knew that because your phone probably said you had a voicemail from me… and like 20 texts…because thats how phones work… haha… Anyways I was just calling to see if you were still coming for our movie night tonight. You kinda bolted from school today and yesterday… aaaand the day before that so I haven’t really had the chance to make sure you were still on. Yeah, um call me or text me.” Y/N paced around the floor of her room, her had running through her hair as she stared at her phone after pressing the end call button. 

Y/N and Peter had been best friends since diapers. And Ned of course, but Y/N and Peter were inseparable. She plopped her self down on the edge of her bed, a heavy sigh escaping her lips and she glanced around her room, her eyes landing on a set of Photo Booth pictures of her and Peter each one more silly than the one before. She grinned as she picked them up, holing them gently in her fingers as though they would shatter under her touch. Things had been so different lately, her parents were constantly fighting and slamming doors and leaving and Peter had been seemingly avoiding her like the plague when she had needed him most. 

She pressed Ned’s name on her phone, hopping Peter was with him and that maybe he had just forgotten his phone or something. But to no avail, Ned was ignoring her also. She tossed her phone across the room with a groan. “I guess friend night is just for you and me now.” Y/N said to her dog who was curled up at the bottom of her bed before pressing play, turning the volume up to drown out the sounds of her parents screaming.

“Ned you can’t tell anyone.” Peter stared at his friend who already was beginning to lose his shit. Peters phone began to ring yet again in his pocket, he let it continue to ring while and New continued to talk. Ned phone began to ring only a moment later, the ringer specifically picked out for when Y/N called echoing In the room.

“Does Y/N know?” Ned asked and Peters eyes widened. He shook his head quickly. “No she doesnt. And she never will. After everything she has been through lately she can’t know that people try to kill me everyday. I’m pretty sure t would give her a heart attack."Peter couldn’t bare the thought of hurting Y/N. She was his person, at least that’s what he liked to call her, if anything happened to her it would kill him. He already felt bad enough ignoring her and leaving her hanging so often but he couldn’t risk it. 

 Y/N leaned her head inside her locker, sniffling away the tears she had been crying all night and morning. Her dad had completely abandoned her and her mom. Packed everything and left them screaming nonsense. Her mom couldn’t handle it and left Y/N to go drink and didn’t return home. She had tried to reach out to Peter and of course was sent directly to voicemail. Y/N reached her hands up, forcefully rubbing them over her tear stained face. With a deep breath she slammed her locker shut. Peter and Ned stood on the other side of the door both with cheesy grins plastered on their faces. The grins quickly fell as they saw how Y/N looked, no makeup which never happened, puffy red eyes, tear stained cheeks and stain covered baggy sweatshirt drowning her already small frame.

“Y/N.. you look..” Peter stared.

“Awful.” Ned finished. Y/N rolled her eyes shoving past the two, hitting them both with her shoulders. 

“Definitely the way to any girls heart. Tell her she looks awful.” MJ leaned against the wall near them staring as though she had been there the whole time. The two looked at her for a moment before quickly turning to go and catch up with Y/N.

“Y/N waits whats wrong?”  Peter ran quickly and grabbed her hand, pulling her into an empty classroom and shutting the door before Ned could come in. He had a feeling this was something just the two of them needed to talk about. Y/N stared ahead at the empty chairs, not turning to Peter who stood behind her. Tears threatened her eyes once more and she took in a shaky breath. “please… you can tell me anything… Its me." 

 Y/N let out a sad and sarcastic laugh. She could feel her anger building up inside of her the closer Peter got to her. She turned on her heel and looked him in the eye. "Anything? I can't tell you jack shit! You haven't been here for weeks Peter! You bolt the second the final bell rings and when I talk to you during school you are always staring at the clock or your phone." 

 "Y/N I can explain! It's the internship I- I have been waiting for a really big call and it takes up all my time!" Peter begged. But Y/N just shook her head an annoyed smile plastered on her lips honestly scaring Peter. “I thought you were happy about me having the internship!”

 "Would you just shut up about that stupid Internship!!" Y/N screamed, Peter stepping back slightly. " you aren't listening to a word I say! I can't tell you anything because you don't listen! If you actually cared you would have actually listened to me and been there for me when I needed you Pete! And I fucking needed you. If you even cared a little bit you would have been there. But you weren't, so clearly you don't. You have completely shut me out Peter. If you want to end it and not be my friend any more please just end it instead of dragging me along like this because I can't take it anymore." Y/N wasn't even trying to hold back her tears at this point.

“Y/N... Please...” He reached out to her, they were standing so close yet they had never felt so far apart. 

“No Peter. If you won't do it then I will. Don't talk to me ever again, its the least you can do.” She sniffled, wiping her tears away before walking out of the room, walking past Ned and MJ and walking straight out the school doors. Peter stood frozen in his spot, silent tears slipping down his cheek as he stared at the empty space where his best friend and the love of his life had been standing just moments before. He was at a loss of words, the only sound filling the room was that of his heart breaking. He was so worried about hurting Y/N because of being Spiderman that he didn't realize how much he himself had been hurting her. 

Peter sat on the rough of the apartment building across from Y/N’s home, he could see the window he had snuck into countless of times before to Y/N’s room, the flickering of a candle as the only light coming from the room. Her curtains blew slightly in from the light breeze that was blowing through her wide open window. He hadn't seen or heard from Y/N the rest of the day no matter how many times he called her and looked around the city for her. He ripped his mask from his face feeling suffocated suddenly. He let so stupid for being so blind to how she had been feeling. Its not like she didn't reach out to him, he was just so caught up in everything that he flat out ignored it. He could hear her mom yelling something at Y/N from where he was sat followed by a loud slam and her mom storming out of the townhouse with a large packed bag. This was his chance, slipping his mask back on he slung his web to attach to her roof, swinging down to land outside of her window.

“Fuck you too mom.” Y/N spoke with no emotion as she closed the door to her room, leaning against it and letting her body slide down it to be sitting on the floor in front of it.

“Now thats no way to talk to your mom.” Y/N’s gaze shut up as she stood quickly, Her eyes grew wide as she stared at The Spider-Man standing in the middle of her room. “Now I know what your thinking and no I'm not here to put you in jail or anything for using that language. I had heard from my pal Peter through the Stark Internship that his best friend Y/N was having a tough time and that he was a complete dumb ass. I figured I would come and try to patch things up. I hear you are a fairly big fan of me.” He stepped closer to her as she stood still, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Close your mouth sweetheart,  it would be a shame if a bug hereto fly in here.” He laughed slightly as he reached his finger up to gently lift her jaw and caress her cheek for a moment. 

“This can't be real life.” Y/N shook her head quickly, pacing slightly in front of him. “I must be dreaming. Or I finally died, jeez that was a bit morbid...” Peter chuckled in front of her and her attention was drawn back to Spider-Man again. A small smile on her lips.

“What?” He asked as she stared at him.

“Oh nothing, you just..  your giggle sounds a lot like Peter’s. I love his little laugh.” She smiled as she bit her lip, thinking of all the times she had heard him let out his stupid little giggle. 

“Sounds like you love a lot more than his laugh.” Spiderman pushed stepping close to her once more.

“What? I mean- oh hell this is all a dream anyways so I might as well just say it. Yeah I love everything about Peter. I love him more than anyone or anything in this world. Thats why it hurt so much. Because no matter how much I say I hate him or how much he hurt me,I will always love him. I know he was just so caught up in the amazing Internship he got. I mean its his future, And I know how much it means to him. I know I was just being selfish. I think I will always be in love with him.” Y/N sighed as she sat on the edge her bed, playing with her chipped paint on her finger nails.

“Well... I know how hard it was for you to tell me that secret. Can I let you in on my own big secret before I give you some advice on what you just said?” Peter was trying his hardest to not stumble over his words, he knew what he said didn't make the most sense but the love of his life just admitted she loved him too. Y/N glanced up at him her eyes shining with tears. 

“Go for it.” Peter took a deep breath as he reached his hand up, grabbing the top of his mask and pulling it off. Y/N’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of her face as she stood up and looked at Peter who had a small smirk on his lips. 

“I’ll always be in love with you too.” Peter said as he closed the distance between the two, pulling Y/N against him and connecting their lips in a passionate kiss. The two finally pulled away as Y/N continued to stare at him her brain unable to think of anything to say.

“This is why I have been so distant, I couldn't risk you getting hurt from knowing but I was so caught up in that that I didn't see how badly I was actually hurting you.” Peter admitted. Y/N reached up and punched him on the shoulder with all her strength. He jerked back slightly, his arm reaching up to nurse the light ache.

“Thats for being an asshole.” Y/N said sternly. She reached up again, Peter flinching and closing his eyes only to be pleasantly surprised when Y/N was kissing him once more.

“What was that one for?” 

“Thats for being my asshole.”

[turuses-blog]

Mute pt.

Alternative Lit Johnathan Edward Barrett Urbalonis

Copyright 2019

ALTERNATIVE LIT

trippy wisdom given to words

·                            writings

·                            quotes

·                            contact ___________________________________________________________

WRITINGS

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deadly nightshade on a rose

Posted by barrett on June 6, 2014 at 10:45 AM

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scantily wrought fences of just-turned-deep-red, read rights of leverage to the thorns that there wrest. a rustling of feather for the wind against the salut bricken brack, which if these were to wilt, still wouldn't form sullen vest. all now investing in a business, a night-lock to guard off spiders who trample on silk, like - sort of a call to arms on a coat of thread, which thick twisty greens would not abed. a cast of action in the worn breeze, easy to impress, though, just a lacklustre show all around makes it a deathly thing to fall in paro. lost in the lake a boy with tong hands serrates, bliss and wouldn't miss arrive a lucid parliament that fate the dice at its gate.

when the phone ran

Posted by barrett on June 6, 2014 at 10:15 AM

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we aren't: part - parted - to depart upon our hearts' fair compartment. an apartment view with a lockpick, key to rampint desertion of a lip of rearrangement notice. 'preferred - our - hour to post pardon the ploxick (several metallic solid flats on a ring that doesn't rust), twice- denote sick out of slang or of a toxic; ways to find chalk kick. alter fast cerebral mask... the what? the ears... twice had; listening to a ploxick till the connotation rang with just the jittery sound. and sometime some laugh at otto and homer when the phone rang.

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bell jar 1

Posted by barrett on June 3, 2014 at 6:00 PM

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awaking to the time 3:30. coldfront and bird chirps. lake breeze and talk about trees. maslow's heirarchy of needs - be - monolithic i'm deed, as those: astute; finger cramp tailor's can produce. but isn't that the perfect fit? when will it be nostalgic to wear something else.

perplexity

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 2:30 PM

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arriving concave, jostled by a fir tree, the hammocked backend of the real mirror in use began accompany.

as far as we know, trees are very hard to knock down, though we can sleep in a tent or hammock, and understand it. horizontally?

perplexity

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 2:30 PM

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arriving concave, jostled by a fir tree, the hammocked backend of the real mirror in use began accompany.

as far as we know, trees are very hard to knock down, though we can sleep in a tent or hammock, and understand it. horizontally?

tailored sheen

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 1:30 PM

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a brilliant, orthodox woman. with strings of galaxies plummetting from her natural sombrero. like 'what would she wear. 'though incomplete, she dances probably with steep falls inbetween elite things that remind me of a sombrero. a cadillidac convertor tattooed on her favorite shirt. this is not too real. insofar as i describe her she merits tangible relapses into beauty. knowing most things about her would require a chair. and chairs or no chairs, sombrero and insofar as sombrero, tangible relaptic strings of galaxies which i add insofar as it lasts for however long. however.

cosmeriment

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 1:25 PM

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every other, insofar as both, as construed, are or our lover. where the sinking sand is truth. now and then, insofar as false, one or two, remain constrained to a patch, a field, a cyclic ameobic dealing with the ineptitude of love. are or our love? which lasts longer. like 'also-' witch lasts longer. which are witch our lover love stoop.

from a binocular a bird follows then insofar as takes flight.

isn't this where the magical birds come from?

and

Posted by barrett on May 24, 2014 at 5:45 PM

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             it was unpleasant. the whole ordeal. i made toast earlier and it seems to have disappeared. the toaster was not out. where, most importantly when. ive been up for about an hour and a half. what have i done other than toast bread... just then L walks in the door. he told me about the toast i ate in front of him. was that a crumb on his chin.. he told me how i walked, almost sleeping, back to bed, with the intent, to toast more... it was then, L said, lets have a toast. couldve meant like four things... he cant be trusted. L raised a peice of bread and there appeared around me many guests at and around the table, though on the other side of the toaster... I dont know why i wasnt scared, I was too hungry. Then I disappeared.

passin me by

Posted by barrett on May 24, 2014 at 5:35 PM

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they say i say the lottery is passing me by. one way, this way im on a road with no tombstone around to wave hi. the day of which and when, though its passable at convenience, is off road and tangible through a womb a wreckage and decay. i said , decaying with Gods children was building a rhythm... now artifacts of cars and syntax hold me to a sky of disdain. reclaiming an idle position is hard at times, on this road to ala coaster, spring flout letter intendency i unreign for something ever after, rest in peace harold raimes, and anyone gone on the way around the desert. it seems surprisingly small, perhaps the tombstones lay in the sand hazards.

passin me by.

a rule not a thumb

passin me by

a thumb not a rule

passin me by

whys everything sought after after

passin me by

a highways a noose before its strung into fibres.

untitled

Posted by barrett on May 20, 2014 at 1:00 AM

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a relic gifted in stone, found, dethrowned from the wall. embedded in a stone. rhythmic licensure of a chisel might fit it enough to bring it home. as i said... prone focus, a 'fast' fastening to a thread. spanning it bears the color red, a ruby. from the look of it, i'd say its dead meet.

quintessential byproduction is a growing field, i think.

typecast publishers boycott surmounting headlines; too many cases of rigormortis,

and that still doesnt hold flame like the fresh stake on the sill...

thin

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 4:40 PM

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a caterpillar hangout to the hummingbird in the morning. over toast passing french. graduation hat vertical complex, duo original animations that string out like a sandstorm. crystal yet elements of partake, abashed with no duration. all form unified specifications for a distraught mot liason. original favouring tricyclic milk glasses. 'like strawberry flavour, is going to keep me wrapt with this newspaper. 'back when paper was new, sort of sorting of the stork's occasion, to see inert pegs, cut, paste on.

inaudible recordings of select indivisions

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 2:25 PM

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If it occured to anyone, it has ownership of value, if value is sought in activity. any valued thought allows vocation or hitherto spirited activity. but of what value can the same thought be?

in allegiance, it may be necessary to rekindle the same thought, even though it is counter-intuitive. its actually used in that fashion of malcontent, accruing a different vocation. this is where value becomes spent.

"i never said i loved you. your heart of malcontent was spent on my breaks."

tifa lockhart

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 2:00 PM

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believe that i can fly. in a world

i see before me laying down the

sky, in a precautious sort of learning.

believe that these can.

whatever they are for others too

hold hands, built to ravish clouds

just testing what wear

hair lengths,

i would like to fly longer

what if i pair with

a parrot

a loch ness monster

a pidgeon

a mobster

'belie dat

thats how it started,

for all these lines, and time is ownlay: carving

the root of what i see,

come follow me, to aesop and sega genesis

where apparel costs the prophet

a glance, with which a slippet can defeat the solace

now ive truly expounded.

"i imagine sloppy seed handling."

the image is like a mirror

the listening skills of a mirror form partial glances to belie the harvest

where?

believe that these can

you'll forget it or knot

this lillie is prime place and principle

ooh look what mom bought

now im caught between a rose and a stout...

wait a second,

white paint

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 9:00 PM

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breaking buildings of trust, epithet lustrous. I want an effigy to read me. lost stuff, pleads 'be'. in a land full of happiness lived a friendly octopus, who need-be tangled up with rustic 'font', little does this octopus know of where its stowed, or going, though he felt snow on top of a boat about a week ago. oh, and between me thumbs, sorry for the wait, and whatever, though I also love my metaphors intact as tressels can become.

only breaking a building.

if it weren't for the antipathy of an occasive injury supplanted by porridge-wrought inert-asive-ship, this belittled sea creature could create a censure wherever it was plait. no more, no more.

the shore broke the sand.

at last stands a villa of domicilia, and like cilia the people tangle through the festivities.

life and the eternal eclipse of finding, part two

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 7:45 PM

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"everything should just be this way." said gypsum and led them to a sunken cavern hollow where it was dark. "if we light any fire we shall be blinded by the reflections of the treasure over the treasure. its best we hollow out the treasure in sequence to get it all out." and so they did.

it was high time they made back with the treasure, but no one wanted treasure anymore, except them. luckily every home in the village had a little treasure. yet to be, was the equal or lesser want of treasure. they had flat discs of metal, and cuttings of stone, shaped weapons of a different metal, and jewellery of all types. bailey didn't even want his horse back.

here we see what a geologist does

life and the eternal eclipse of finding, part one

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 7:05 PM

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"in a far off place, there are treasures" gypsum said, "I can take you there, to them, if the price is right."

"if the price is right, then." Hamlin said.

gypsum held back his horse which was drawing closer from the stable, alongside bailey. "the only problem is that they are guarded by the utmost, wickedest creature known to man, yet not creatures." gypsum got on the horse.

Hamlin stunted his smile and asked the valiant-assuming, postured knight what he meant.

"it is guarded by treasure."

in this tale we see the characters distraught.

a starlit necessary

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 6:55 PM

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blanket starch bold allegiance to the thrown of two for the basket. cloth never reminded me so much of eggshell, said with a mist of chalk or something. no doubt today would flout the risking of a pantomime. by very well boisterous rising of swells that dawn allegedlldy fell. somewhere else. a felt tip drags, and some mothers cry.

sweeping a ray in nightly tide, venomous uncouth hand holding that say to the nightingale across the shore: fly by! if its up to pigment to gain the moon, neither could tell, but a bright lightning light, storms her deep memory of perchance and wail and wait and why.

the arrow fur of a tonic hold deep aghast, cast sheep on the clouds that peeve and prance whisking away the tide. trial neatly folded the blanket is now set. ready for everything, yet, not in a young sort of way. asking, where is this place, and where are we off to mixes backwards and time, slightly grazes her arm and they beg to ask why.

the moon held an old coat from her closet the lake or river, or both, made a inaudible concert the blanket lay in pieces.

the next day sprung, like no one had been there, save a patch of flattened earth, the size of about two people, those that truly are due.

,hard to see fit, a reminisce, acquiesced by either while they choke on fever, under blankets so warm inside or out waiting for the sun, for no reason.

diatribe

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 5:50 PM

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it was around the ninth that a segment of the show aired in the middle of a stream of commercials. it was hailed as the only thing to look for afterwards.

bob sprocket came into work with a ticket for his leave, unknowingly, being the only member of his team to have caught a fixed the glitch

anyway, on the twelvth they had it savvy, worked like an extra suspension cable to the workings of a television show and anchored the commercial representativity to a glistening extreme.

on the thirteenth they aired a fake commercial for 'sprocket cleanser,' a little too much like a commercial. somewhere else they thought of making the product.

bob sprocket oriented himself in the lunch room before nine oclock on the fifteenth, when he noticed his picture was on the television, him from when he started working at the small initiate of office. he took his leave the following day.

things got a little messy.

«

clothes

Posted by barrett on May 6, 2014 at 3:45 PM

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three thousand years ago, and now before, a something like a sentient building will cast existence flames like sewing a curtain. a rif in the time continuum. without knowledge of us it shall pick up where it left off and we`ll be held in trust. it happens all the time, mayybe. maybe just the sound distinguishing remarks of a plot punctured. surfers these days should know all about, but it seems like they don`t.

if it were to ever happen, its most likely to be ferretted into convenient thought of a more widespread diaspora and be hassled into notation, being the differennce between now and then solely; whether it provides either way is categorically imperative and no stress we could come up with in physics could partake in its mysterious intuition.

nevermind

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 1:35 PM

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a rare breed of dog called the foglace has been meritoriously attributed to the southern hemisphere of the continent of the americas. Deep in the subtropical jungles of eastern peru there was found several packs of this breed. the foglace is of a predictable discretion, though with mild anterior bends on the ears; a large patch of black on the stomach & a lime orange tinge coating it in lacey fur. the dog hunts at twilight for prey like lemurs and muscrats, never consuming them whole, especially at first take.

the breed has recently travelled up to the tip of the panamalian canal's south side, where it inveritably waits for passage. it is being debated whether or not the dog should be introduced to a broader, dryer cllimate, as invariably breedds shall mix.

thus brings me to the account of one Peter Jogstone, a breeder of dogs and kennel keeper in at least three states. he attained a sample of the dogs hair and immediately orderred one.. two very profound events, one merit, one surmount. to his lliking he now has one male foglace. in the summer of last year he travelled to alaska with it, which he called dawson.

missing

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:45 AM

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course of these whimsy feverish lips and

towards you, feel restrained with locks; this feeble

attempt of garullous youthful tolerance

fills me with thee revolt of people's keep-all

circunscription where the laughter is fake.

Though a laugh shared between there and here is,

partly made practical by the weery stakes

the enamorred with whichever might kiss.

attentive recourse in all but just that

can extinguish a messy happenning

and to you i say this is just a flat

surface of thorns to call a bed again

ageless prospective atrocious kissing

versus the time it was fun to do so (

art

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:25 AM

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he has grace together that cares so

a caress from his hand could score wax

an utterable countenace with arrows

often marked as woman, though more man.

'at leisure he spotted yes and no

and decided to drop anchor,

with a pull string on his ward so

he let the talk come from the pure

help wanted

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:10 AM

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a frightening evening is all she could recall, and on this very night it started - to the extent of her interpolation - with the same few odd quirks. its funny, her and betty always seemed to dote on myla's quirks, it seemed indifferent till about two weeks ago and tonite. the two in likely sweep from work to granite street where they part ways was wayward and elongated by the extra two hours they had to put in. as i was saying, the moon shined a yellow pallor and seemed to move the clouds like curtains. sometimes they would look up and see nothing. their talk was hurried and just short ofpanic in the late evening hour where no cars would pass by and the hedges creeped. as a tactful glance into the structure of their conversation which i waiting for myla's arrival made out afterwards, was that they seemed to be coming back to the same topic of what it is like to walk by a cemetery. myla and betty ended up at granite street safely and parted. myla told me she heard betty's dog a lot sooner than usual and that it made her feel diffident - the term she used.

For the next week she remained diffident in all bodice and color; her movements, her appraisal, her reprize all diffident. i started seeing her in a new light, like she was getting over something, or for the most part, was over something.

naughts

Posted by barrett on April 20, 2014 at 8:35 PM

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a net silence of glossy colored sheets flared up with the coffee. he gave them a look and removed the green one. 'ah a sensation' he gloated. 'for that green coated slip was mean, no more meandering at the bottom of the chain. he put it on top of the manilla. already virtuoso reptilian, though flushed emerald in the light from beside the computer.

the office lights werent on, he was last to leave already, and on the sidewalk -manilla / green flanking his right side.

the next day the reverse was put on Chimey's desk and he waited for the slips to come in again, both. the coffee... nothing... the lights... nothing, it seems he'd be fired, so he looked back to the clock. time was ticking by.

the coffee, the lights.

the coffee, the lights.

the coffee, the lights.

at home on saturday he received a green phone call. "too much manilla"

the coffee, the letterhead gold, the lights, the reflection, the phone call, the fine, the workers, the elevator, the ruby red, the address, the plot thickens, the coffee colored manilla, the entropy

fixed glossy coatings

orange corner

blank white by the hundred,

pink slips

no color up the sleeves on the way out the manager said, and so he never left that white letterhead.

paste and clips

all or nothing

a black sheet of paper tacked to the wall, only. validity. special reproach to candor manifestly opaque in difference, just a different outcome, where the colors' colors shine bright. black

afficiency

Posted by barrett on April 20, 2014 at 3:30 PM

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"only a villain so fantastic could have plotted something like this" the curtains were spread apart and light shined down on the muddy boot, alone, next to the eyeing jazz fiend. "i mean, theres no connection between this jazzman and anyone within ten miles. though there are a few laniards from a nearby festival held within a week of today everyear."

"how jolly"

"except he won't be at this festival, because he's dead."

"what! are you sure he isn't just creating jazz music...?"

"he might be, in jazz heaven..."

the scene was pretty dolled up. candles found their way onto open offering surfaces and a vinyl record player lay agape on the endtable across the floor.

"it seems he was entertaining."

"wait he's coming to."

the jazz man's grasp of the saxophone gave way and slid a little on the hardwood floor.

"no, just a reproof. hes dead. he won't be at the festival, it seems the murder was done by jazz itself, cuz no man can control it."

"he was good though." aaron said

"a little too good maybe." delroy said

"why don't we play the record and recreate the scene?"

"not till the jazzman is gone."

the grave words.

Occasive Down-end

Posted by barrett on April 17, 2014 at 7:35 PM

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             drowning in a sea of silk, a lightning strikes! and turns it to felt. 'Whatever happened to the simpler days, was never so complex. and often on a podium right next to the studio you can see the next. But blaintant rampint chronologies of force (touring) can only make sport for less-subdued blood, banishing the trudge of mud.

then we climb out, nails to the brink, time is stout, fail to think, just get yourself out, trails on brinks.

When did we have to say things like "thanks for the bargain." that really means something to me,

dare we fold an iris and seeth rew totalled and friendly to the scent of focus?

tending sticks for walking till repition

a blank face on a boat with a storm with a smile. either i'll paddle backwards or reginald will while i forth.

occasive buoyancy

Posted by barrett on April 17, 2014 at 7:25 PM

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in light of the spectrum, pixels animated readdress fulcrum. though like certain applications suggest it may act upon another axis. in light of this question i shall observe glasses and try to see through the seams of nature, conjugated. in light of hindsight i'd say there has been a lot of light shed on the subject. and in light im all opaque and with-feature. in light balance of statement, theory, plan, musing and what id like to call 'entropy', i feel all masked and ashamed in the dark and empty, wanting to talk about shells and repositioning my feet. first i will look up entropy, and tie it in:

done and done

the deaf ears for crazy

Posted by barrett on April 16, 2014 at 4:40 AM

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Crazy, the word, is a professed lazy assailant of one's marker. The strongest argument made by the latest philosopher's is a discontinuity between perception and reality. Imagine hearing the sound of a straw falling in a glass of water. Maybe to bite off more than one can chew is crazy, precept reside. Spanning the tromp de l'oeil of almost ritualized perceptive artifices, none stand out more than the one's with visual scrutiny. To think something can also be otherwise is otherwise is what? a charged antinomy and a lock? No matter how hard people try to agree there's no snug or perfect syncronizattion... So maybe some are crazy, but amongst themselves if the word holds  true, there should be some syncronization.

beck at it

Posted by barrett on April 16, 2014 at 4:30 AM

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dusty vinyl records, stayin that way cause collections. people with vinyl are a grouping, theyve extended function to quality with respects to guessing. ritual also endorses the use of vinyl, many disc jockies know it too well, enough to have concerts out ofone and two vinyl players.

when vinyl records first came out it was precarious and resplendent. listening to music was more of an activity, probably based soley on the movement of people. today music is easier to access and control. so why are there people playing vinyl?

The only plausible answer is, that they haven't pirated any music and their music is all or mostly on the records they spin.

to be continued

eye care

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:45 PM

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an interogation of whats on hand, warrant received amidst a desperate man. Check everything. they would like to wouldn't. a round off of bullet, several cut carrots on a wood plate.

pate...

hasty taken provided liquid crystal displayed moments later he checked the fridge. (this is where it all comes in)

he found a note, right above the bag of carrots: eat carrots

Cast Cupid

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:40 PM

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Practical alignments' gathered feathers fettered... shuffle tilt rust recalls.

An inumeralbe immunity of pox of letters... that suffice to say it's fall.

Why this distance mistakes birds' calls for getting recon.

As whitening cold abound so thin and transparent on heat.

Pleating desperation for a new tomorrow in calm promise,

With the striking features of some meet.

Tawdry desolation, may only,

Set astray an artisan of lonely.

Tense spindle of four or five few,

Twisted indiscretely conjunctionally till they enter you,

terrace

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:30 PM

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a green multitude of limb. ballast-taut structures of evident. picturesque people tend, around, and then again. rearranged possessive systemic trust in needles, pinch professionals of those akin. the swarming fever of a harlequin full of attention span.

a full form tropical delay of all my whims, brought about somehow, someway. what isn't this is this and thinning, to say... dimensional recast of a forbeared stay.

it made light with words and circled thin. arrested polish of those who dine, made clockwise for all ive got to say, though pining spinning these warn of May.

taken with salt... soup,

taken with soup... relaxed

brittle piece of work

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 5:05 PM

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a red violet

glow 'doth\ braun

civil, patience...

burning turning stern,

a license to jot,

in ink violence - too fond

of ornament, of nature, of system, of pleasure

where the earth will turn

flattery battery battery

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 3:40 PM

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lithium, some nirvana. held, swallowed. expelled. talon, large... the one that shoves the real. i thought a while ago that there was a way into the next life, but tomorrow never dies. lastnight, for real though, i thought twice that a character prepared of orature would be cool if suffice, Tomorrow Night. for the night i will leave an anvil untattered, though hip hop orchestrated may make troublesome lore, where incumbrant echoing one hundred i'll attend the maze until the very last turn. now stop and turn a hundred. this aint nirvana, this is an egalitarian discotech of promotion negotiating with peaceful subjects aimed at warm heaters. madness, genius, unreal, and phallus, deducting proclivities to sunshine in an ordinary fashion, though i can hear the tarnished remarks of proctoring and gamble with the walks withini, theres never really an ending till all the sleeves are offering. so for now at the age of April, i'll wonder why it snowed today and remember that theres more snow cauterring "in utero".

tifa lockhart

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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a beautiful woman is a lot like a daffodil i said,

prove it. but flower's can't talk

i walked in the sand.

stood and offered my nose to her hand.

i tear apart a three of hearts

with no one to pick up the dirt.

its funny cuz sometimes what doest really work.

format:

welcome,

you learn conforming?

boring sentence structure detouring,

near of from, far or going.

and then a reciprocal gem of what is storing.

everything has a shell, called it!

then i ben over and fetched the wallet.

this should never leave my pocket

and in there, that there sprocket...

'the one that whimsy did' chained to a lockett

her picture perfect perfunct predetermined nature harkened

a litre in the same vain.

but it never really functioned until several finaciers arranging warped echoes

alotted themselves in walking,

so far gone, like the porridge, watch i proctor

and any official statement made by me can unsort this calcium deficient closet.

watching, to: spying. too much wall within the place.

say what is gone is now encased and shows vace

tu ne say quoi

a patrol of indecency arriving in tangents, to memory banks tthrough half handstands... 'grandslams, tame fam ran high hope tanned plans sans france bandstand land spans. and what comes off in one pluck is enough to offer eleven more words but they seem to have fell off the truck

duck duck goosed by givance and gators

pray tell negligee erased to find humour

and now i craft like one undone, too modest for malice in narrative mindsets to add fluence.

cantankerous plots of land i summon thee, question this dell and stream.

"don't pester us, pester flatter, this only flatters me."

cuz he got to talk

running through a jazz lucidity crises, mistaking real gold for fool's gold. i think...

pieceless puzzles lying on their stomaches chow down. (it was from off the cylinder)

i totally correct my vision.

"the sun rose" from lord of the rings, now that's time froze.

bashful beauty

too.

this lily has been so out of seems. i could

i tear apart a three of hearts

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:55 PM

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             someone sent her. i know it now. though these cards split apart. inside theres some sort of notoriety. in this decadent sobriety she says hi to me. where and when... can they go wrong? a right of thought. shes played a lot of starts. raging inbetween wagons, i would say. but then theres something wrong... is it what makes this scene? i, disparagingly lay down some matter: sadness, laughter, wrong, and tatterred. a blissful spell of 'all she does is yell' peltting me with hello, though theres a brow, braced and watched. like a professional about to tell someone off indignant of the melting tingling feeling forcing gleeful fleeting. a mix of dust. trust, ownership and yelling. don't go.

an old broom

Posted  by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:45 PM

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             whatever comes this way. swept off my sidelings when i found a noticable tract. probable cause in repetoire though confines so elementary

behind the wayside and the wallet, a, whatever -you - call 'it, there's a fix that needs a prix.

free from the antlers and buoyance from the found, i rush in with wooden artifice to find a kick

and around to the cranberries that so sound become handy, one grandslam armoir close like a laundry

and i always can't see it, but i'm beaming to some stowage, improper, and cogged, cognated with revery and awe.

it has been my mission just sifting, though roundabout and through wishing, with amalgammed tenancy does wrought. so temperance and allegiance, pageantry so decent, i attend willingly the problem and start with the cause in timing.

The willow stands tall outside. On it's branches are many orating plush-strained incubi that designate the orifice.

and the porridge is now warm.

warning warring weeping to stop sleeping and slept. vitamins on the table, and perfect neglect.

interior of a nomme de plume

Posted  by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:30 PM

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             bested, besieged. in dear ascent of leagues. trusted and animated through tunnel vision, one can perceive a conception of emotional tumult; where ridden of topic and flavour. indescent really weathering thoughts on a paper. but, with haste, the writers turn trap'd in a large ornamental gap-mishap. and render vain through a window eager to shelter.

blending, berated, in clear ominous straint, dire collection of silver strings... draw sentiment into collection. arranging 'things' like hand on rapier, and not unlike one too for favour, but altogether. relinquished it is but a tumult of emotion - ranging from despair to fresh care - given, not - where, wherefore trots' liquid dismissing of permissive givances.

like fiancee to writable, and all in one unique type logarithymic, no ventricle could hold the pencil shavings that were on candle. yet, and well crafted yet, as yets to be yet. let leaders follow folio and prefer for what's set.

an enterprise of commiserate duty in the hands of an official reality model. some betook and aghast waste away at the nomenclature as forms to clay, shaking dorms like whoknows. let it snow, let it snow.

bonhomme de neige, the recipient of this echo.

touchy subject

Posted  by barrett on April 12, 2014 at 1:20 PM

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"do that awful jazz music"

"with what?" he said looking from left to right.

"yknow that awful, jazz, music."

be bob bop batta ba

the conclusion:

jazz music can not singularily be awful, so that this guy is incredible.

oh, uh

Posted  by barrett on April 9, 2014 at 8:10 PM

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             only conformity breeds chaos, enough of borderline leaderships they cry. and we obey either way with someone and sketch the line... "lets". and then like a divet in a field of grass rain pours in and it takes days to get the worms anywhere else. well, "well", either way conforming doesn't have to be a battle, but a series of exactitudes formed in process to an aclimated state of peripheral balance. there is no way not to conform is there. if we all live eachother's lives accordingly, its just seen with a different divet...it seems examples would be elliptical style menacing renditions of the refinition of durability, seeking strong in ultraviolet, though, historically speaking we are all one part alien.and one part definition. seen oblong as an example it would seem that we choose propective candidates in advancement through spreadless paste tag 'lines' and coeffect ourselves out of sync, as perspective does. thats a good ending, as perspective does.

in uh.

Posted  by barrett on April 3, 2014 at 9:00 PM

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a fluency in english deludes the best of its commontaters. we shall become one with the striving one does to become none other than non. Anon, and abest to the corporeal indicative comingling of the undone and the undone. it has both rapport but does not asign another., or an other. sadly striving can only overcome the common efficacy of sound on a ?mantle?, but undoes just as well as the strive that places forth. sadly, striving. but to none other than a language goes a proficiency, home, to walk amongst the others of a same specious, but disparate, disparaging recollection of purified nonsense; in the same way that hands reach out and legs abound.

on a sailboat, several financiers located an agreement slip of paper and read it aloud, they agreed to sign it and then the clouds rolled over. they quickly tried to laminate it, but with such lamentation dropped it in the water.

discount items

Posted  by barrett on April 1, 2014 at 7:50 PM

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a woman, of stout physical class, was seen by her neighborhood, walking a small English poodle, of harsh detrimental physique. The poodle would call it her own and jowl at the several to many passerbys that would syrup through the gangly media of initiation and venting. it was a saturday afternoon that the dog had fell down after sitting; taken by the vet, she did a lot more sitting. otherwise it was a labouriate indignation of plausible outrage and defenseless opposition to the stout class of a specimen, likewise to the tambourine of this annal.

it so happened that her courter several years later was English and liked poodles. On the occasion of talking about anew pet, it was certain that the dog was coming back from the dead. The woman - Lily- screemed with systemic delight and not a word later the dog came through the back door. and sat. Lily and Tumnas took a turn patting her head, when occurred a high whistle that could seemingly only made out by Lily. Needless to say it was a faint echo of the dog, of which one, even i am concerned.

at the edge of hedges outside through the window was always a red cardinal. blessed be, the culprit of the whistle.

"theres no use in caging a bird" said tumna eventually.

"then theres no use calligraphying a poodle."

tumnas sat on the stairs and managed to hear a sound, it all ended with the word "remember"

untitled1

Posted  by barrett on March 31, 2014 at 4:05 PM

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"it was becoming lucrative!"

"how so?"

"knowing how to embroider specialized door mats, has never been more welcome!"

"So why did you drop out?"

"It wasn't my passion."

"and what was?" "finding lucrative businesses."

on a sailboat in the middle of the lake, a man named, guaranteed, was fishing for dinner.

a storm kicked up and tipped his boat over, so he stayed under neith to breathe and holdfast.

he washed up on shore about an hour later, a lake away from his cottage.

instead of fish he would eat among all fish, he drank kool-aid and had toast.

he didn ot see the storm coming, but it didn t destroy his boat!

and then a seahorse named "what are you doing?" was born,

rogue

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:20 PM

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in a way, we find ourselves. combatting evil in illustrioustrialist right. we honour each side like a contraband, and play bellows like a shellfish in the sand. standing tall, with what all? never seeing behind us, but sometimes reminding some that we can peirce our blindness. trallopping over kindness, besmirching wickets... like: 'that covers it'. and end up sitting in front of a fire the only way it knows how. too much addressing, little less than much more confection, letting it, forgetting it, paying patience to what is now the other side of the wicket. crickets laughing in the distance dialing for forge progressed sharps that greet hay. oh, i forgot, creation inside something else, ultraparallelopedisms and misprints on slips of paper, property printing proper misgivings for more to span. lost listings of good stories, though stories of books.

monostarch

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:20 PM

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in a minute's romance: brilliance plays almost dance

Casual attidude of delays of so in a minute's romance.

so much sloping like slop deliverred to and through caravan's

"my heart slew" hefty jocund rice sushi inimtables on the counter

and this wasn't outside the bracket. welcome to thee last six years:

pelt, like a pelt

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:15 PM

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Several days ago, a matter of the heart had him crying, playing cribbabe. He stouted fourteens here and there as a mild sigh of relief, but technically and wholeheartdly he was losing and not in the race ultra-parallelly in that respect. it seems fourteen beamed a peridontistallite for his visible facial ties and he acted whimsical.

"another" the other said.

"tomorrow or the next, shuffle up and deal." could you imagine if that other side of the comma was outside the quotation marks?

nonchalance equisition

Posted  by barrett on March 24, 2014 at 8:40 PM

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fellows that!

hi here to thy brandish

if i werent adrink brandy thou would thy spend

well if it isn't when and where that was catalouged by the defense mechanism of a wyvern in type and term.

who holds the brandy (double back)

well then aside i must sip

while i attack?

the moss grew softer and like, very distasteful relief was all but plotted, in a niche

i didn't even drink any

brandished?

spat: a regatta

held

accountable for

relieved

your hat

false beliefs?

terms and tact

goner?

gone to better

roll with the cadences

bake in the heat

so i guess you had already

my own defeat

titleist

Posted  by barrett on March 23, 2014 at 8:40 PM

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several arranged a finacial commissirate deduction from the aspects of several. now they stone roll, and roll away the indecisive together. but not a point to make a stop to eachother all over again in ones.

opt'apelia

Posted  by barrett on March 23, 2014 at 4:00 PM

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it's what became of her. ninety seven, sixty three. stingray wheel and a shop full of feet.

like an ocean liner with too many anchors, swept and a treat to the eyes, threatening to look at alone.

two doors, seventy six. rpms standards. and the severed financial structure numeration in a history.

it wore a black sheet in the front and upper to lower back in that way. small spoiled

when it whipped past the first time it was home, they keep it on the lot to sell oil or something

some people drink it, but its neither fast nor slow down to the end.

this thing that thing, all the eyes origin and ending with a swift ninety seven.

too much handling and a brief manual on defense.

several arranged financial agreements

several

Posted  by barrett on March 20, 2014 at 1:55 PM

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at the library, several arranged financiers impatienly bargained for the new book.

dustin?

Posted  by barrett on March 12, 2014 at 8:50 PM

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"the dwarf had a silver maracca."

the pond

Posted  by barrett on March 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM

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from the bottom of the pond, i say. is where these rocks come from. if we want more of these rocks, we will wait, until the pond is not crowded with water and seaweed.

the pond.

levelry

Posted  by barrett on March 4, 2014 at 5:05 PM

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a black decent string, with silver-coated pearls

hung dangling off the box, and promoted guile.

it was hung there, heavenly like it belonged to the world.

and just because it also promoted style.

Ginger-ale and some weakened blossoms fix

and usually when trampled upon connote

a foot of sunken color like lamped wicks

though not in any way one would know.

The bracelt silver and yellow, married: gold and in circle

With one  wealthier pigment every five

Touching, the rupture of the inkblot: purple

It's hard at all to see it survive.

all to say what may come of jewelery

and all the revelry does subsist

though broken forms, through certain reveries

never to one woman enlist.

notation

Posted  by barrett on March 3, 2014 at 8:30 PM

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a hidden door way that led down a long dark hall. easily traversed compiling a set of stairs at the end, a green, oval knocker illuminated.by a single candle at the foot of the door. i took up the candle, and knocked on the door. a bolt sounded, and then all was black. the scent of smoke was wispy and gone in seconds. pringles, classic et cetera

in a sense

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 10:30 PM

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seven soldiers surrounding... whats more, whats more.

all in the noise hearts pounding... whats more, whats more

seven they started, seven they ended, and here is what is more

on top of propounding, leash proper behaviour and love for war.

type cast away

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 8:55 PM

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it is up to he who knows to know who shall know thy..

thee known as, shall know as known

and all a see shall fruit like magical kings

heels click

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 7:35 PM

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a definite amount of certain, curtains perks'n, fork hands for purpose, to propose rose flowers like same-initial form posed endings. magestic feeling astray connotes an invisible metal, that won over to this side to trim and lie. by now of i swerving out of character flawed sighs, an empire of rose flowers by fault. till the grow side by side, in abundance

his inferno

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 7:25 PM

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In the directories of life, governed by the all-knowing but offensive to capitalization, a salamander can be found, or two. Salamander hunters have since been long-heard-off-of though they use to frequent our setting. A cabin in the eastern most of the continent, known secondarily for it's chief export: salamander-fish, strike it rich in the upcoming fall.

Jerry the cabin owner was stocked for the winter and when he had his first snowless day, looked bright on the crossroad in front of him. He made his way to the end of the fence and fished out his old slop bucket. A slop bucket which he kept from his grandfather who owned a farm just to the west. He brought the buckt in and filled it with water, took a sponge and some pinesol and cleaned the front porch, top to bottom. The scent was a signal to those that knew him that he would soon be into town, not too mention the scent he gained.

In town he had a funny feeling, from the clouds, to the winds, to the roads, to the transmission on his radio, all saying the same thing: salamanders. He went to pick up some worms and a few fresh lures and hooks and hurried back home. To the stream he went and put together his rod. Just waiting.

ati derivative

Posted  by barrett on February 26, 2014 at 8:25 PM

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A small communirty of ex-miners, with about 2 or 3 minors to each home had a terrible flood. But with all the hard work, then and before, it only seemed terrible for a day, the day of the flood that is.

tuesday special

Posted  by barrett on February 25, 2014 at 3:50 PM

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imagine a telescope that could see into the future, as oppose to the past... what would the difference be? itd probably be less powerful. az truck driving superhighway goggles... rip harold ramis. thats snaff

walk by 2

Posted  by barrett on February 23, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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in an arc it was tassled by twinkling, and blew over the clearest patch of dust hamperred grass. straight up. and everyone had a seat at the ceremony. little statues for perseverence in "can you trust me" a movie made by many. it was the prescreening, but that only now comes in. "delabous? are you serious?" overcame the overworked orchestra and the screen was lit, yet black and white. the crowd...

quiche

Posted  by barrett on February 22, 2014 at 11:45  PM

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in a category gone missing, was a folder with the headline: catchetori chicken

by one's resolve chicken shall be made-type.

and that type is fine, fit for dinner and out of the way in a way

some business that, of chicken.

with a rainhat im starting to think chicken: mad.

as such a book will thrift certain events.

you are not what you read,

my mouth can't tell me.      

walk by

Posted  by barrett on February 20, 2014 at 10:25  AM

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a translucent sphere witha drawstring case. several, in the case. the case in which is mentioned bears a face, a bear, with long whiskers, with a tribute to stars and space, in whitie lace. wherever the place, it is known to face others' paces with all similar trace.

a circle in the grass, in the sand. where no man walks away. it is not easy to pass, to be planted is how one gets away.

clad in plaid

Posted  by barrett on February 19, 2014 at 11:10  AM

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Plaidly hopped in the cart.

"Welcome, to the land of the future" a tinny voice rang "if you'll look to your right you'll see a real-life dinosaur skeleton."

Plaidly hopped out of the cart. to be with the dinosaur skeleton. Mr. Shogun ordered the ride to be stopped and went to get Plaidly. "What is the matter with you Plaidly?"

"I don't want dinosaurs in my future."

"Well then we best make our getaway onwards through this kiddy ride."

"sure thing."

They both went to sit in the cart again. When Plaidly looked back he noticed the skeleton was missing. "if you look to the left you'll see early man by a fire." the tinny voice continued.

it was a long day after the ride. Plaidly got back home safely with a note of fatigue. he heard footsteps. Someone was at the door. When he opened it his face pulled in horror thought he couldn't make a sound, there was the skeleton head of the dinosaur he had seen at the exhibition... with a package. he kicked the skeleton to pieces and received the package. he tore it open and took a look at the tiny fossil, with a note that said "use this to break the teeth and jaws, back of the skull and anything you don't like."

Plaidly's house now had a rather large gathering of dinosaur ruins in front of it. And that's how Plaidly played it out plain and simple.

the regular roose

Posted  by barrett on February 17, 2014 at 12:55  AM

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up to the ceiling with feeling, ie. the letter brought on a greivous upheaval. who could have delivered such a thing to let one corner bend after dear, and dear me, was too endearing to let it drop in the box.

i haven't known, i haven't gone. the place is new, yet the lights are on.

predictions of a certain night time upheaval, where everything wants to be read except that torn message in the envelope that said:

dear reginald,

its time to put your books on the shelf, and meet me for a goodbye shelfish dinner, or something. im leaving saturday for good. in the meantime...

and at this one point  i want my name to be reginald

«

discontent

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 2:35 PM

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the workshop was clean as a whistle. a tinsmith could see his reflection. though he added pictures of engineered plots, this was the only one to service him. he kept a fine pocket, with no chain or ballast. his articles of clothing were fine in their sense. above the last belt of tools on his mantle a sheet of one by three tools would go- adding in a never.

he was to build the iris of a robot, at least a circular circuitboard with occulence. either capacity.

as he worked the retraction in... in discontent he realized he was only eyeing the measurements. tho

a walk through the melted snowman field

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 2:05 PM

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"its really not my field, but is it not unnaturally warm in the sun today."

"why the snowmen have bulbous shadows by ones upon our time."

"a snow-man-angelleses!"

maybe the clouds were in dissarray.

"Let's hope that snowmen don't get upset."

"I couldn't care at all for that joke."

"Well i see."

they walked in the shadow's turn of phrase from the muddy snow hills, crushin' ice and snow. not knowing where the arms were pointed but a hall full of melting and fell apart snowman sure is still fill. The sun seemed faster as they walked out further. so many of them,

"this has to be the coolest thing ive ever done"

"watch out for the melting faces"

still on stalk, they could hear talking. was it kids? all they could think. why it was impossible not to just either be scared or amazed. the same face, faces facing. about two months worth of snowmen. it was like one of the wonder's of theworld that may have led on to something strange in the same matter somewhere else.

you don't forget something like this, yet they melt

ego mania

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 1:40 PM

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jepordized cats by 3 ran down the midnight windy road, half slanted. A crew at the construction had already started shipping in parts. cats in three, in these parts both ran and ran for nothing, for nothing would be cat-like in fact.

where did the cats go?.. on all fours as they should. they forrayed at the fortress in the foyer of another formidable straight. and then half slanted. now two streets down. they could still here the truck.

the cats made it to the edge of the field three streets down and looked around. tacktful amazing cats like seen nearcurtains curtailed the night and made it under a cabin.

the cats live there now, on three strands of purpose.

a notice of reflection

Posted  by barrett on February 15, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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every shadow reaches its limit independent of the troughs it spans and the displacement increases with a maximum amount of darkness, im thinking desert sands.

as these higher degrees, the sun creates lower, as we travel and stay still, just how stay still becomes none whatsoever.

their then must be an amount of darkness independent of the absence of reflection in directory, plus natural shadow governed amount, that places what id call foil or a shadow on the ground, initially it may be a change in temperature, though how does it go from a natural then down.

This could be how the temperature changes, a notice of reflection (from other surfaces)

this reminds me of clouds that must go through this totally reflectively.

the olympics are on

Posted  by barrett on February 15, 2014 at 2:10 PM

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naivety can be so reassuring, yet bliss can render ignorance in itis defense.

if a blimp went by that looked like a cloud would it render in sincere delivery?

the pilot, plots, the wind doesn't shrink, yet the whole show is only a makeup.

of what the astute really think.

trumpet

Posted  by barrett on February 12, 2014 at 4:10 PM

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at convenience at last alack alas again. gainful threading...softly treading; endearment!, through around an iconoclastic circa forecast inspiration.

grateful rodsman sporting width with a colleauge of magnetic softly treading, trouble is, no one will know the connection they spread

on a planet several gloves were washed in a basin and the hands went cold. for several days.

intelligently resembling hand gloves, fake hand gloves were made. no connection to the eye or face, though the hands were spread out gently. and partisan to flock alack tacking auto-bastions was mercury.

favourites hammered and withered succint oceanic mysticisms that brought back the primer, trouble is, though no one for several days made no connection mercury.

gowns

Posted  by barrett on February 6, 2014 at 5:25 AM

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sora, soars a swoiree for her ad'or'a. wherein Wilting arose such suspicion, with'in a city grown by. on the eve of an aurora, therein quick stitching force her meridian to a timid aura, or an orphan scanning for spies with no warrant, Though fleeting everyday. it goes without saying one will, will, win over what is chaste, won't we into maybe strong and safe allowed to be prayers. And as one swimming in and out the door'of her past shores, her flora always sitting bipartisan though taken in a wake of what is more, while all her insides are our pouring.

they're in

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 9:35 PM

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it just so happens; without knowledge. that is enough for some; yet independent. stressed as thumbs.

typeface orate

a glee club for all the maidens of the spade.

cat's eye, one

as precipitate to colleague, mentionable through this and that, the marble's chief export is force.

no flogging of the gnat.

and where can you buy a tile with a letter on it?

et cetera

lemonade

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 3:10 PM

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oh look at that." she said with a common stumble,

he was all ready to reach for something. and down they went.

she awoke  in front of the business, and ordered once, but twice

wherein he said "i will not drink lemonade!"

and took a stand.

Chances May

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 3:05 PM

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tidings, behold ye grand dealings. these things of common place tidings, be, holding ye grand dealings.

and then some artifact a few away, flew away in the mishap, like mishapen clay

and then around again, i found it, i found it

foundings of forwards for words.

where wars' bottles' stay

lay down along the ebb.

and follow out, too old

and noisily buoy,

until, un-tilled

until whatever

chances may.

downward spiral

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 6:15 AM

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down the man made hall.

wherever it is, its dark

se much for a good window.

meanwhile it's plateglass

The midnighter - 3 Aurora

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 6:00 AM

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I wonder what happens when you happen to be blessed, thank you… all concurrent I think we need a rest in an ambiguous dance I held these hands like chapters of a book, in an unmentionable glance I took in the power of its post postulate and deemed it its corruption… through the snowbanks such in the life of things you know and crushin’ snow and ice while the nothing in response is rooted to the foot of the glacier, moving at made up thaw speeds below the radio wave transmissions’ level all to say something up up and below sea level.i

some gathering

Posted by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 4:10 AM

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awaiting a loop in rest and relax

i say, the motion of the cars is backed

only by a few mile delay.

'someone said it brings in the cold air

on it's tracks

with no cares yet, the stack stays full of it

until it sotps, and that happense all day.

...

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 4:00 AM

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I'm beginning to take notice of the windchill

solly

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 3:05 AM

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Isolate liquid dyslexic arresting less of this, when wilt today’s catches and matches into the circle of a half force of the opposite, wherein the fastest regulates the passive into fire that whips the air like lisps.

And the ailing cannot commit to the risks the migratory mitigation memories memorize and test the air for following into the wrong places with this: fire, licking the atmosphere now for more than the awakened like flares’ to.

All done spirits spiral in likewise, find terminals and enter into the extraneous versions of sleep, encasing, wait, facing the irregularities in warmth that take down several forces of this fire, and into they go.

The air now frigid, the sniffs sapped, the gifted, mapped, sever each other in some sort of collapse, until matches fall into the hands.

Alive and dash-full digits undoing cold with world left forever take apart severances turn to warmth, awake then spread fire like-with their faces, encased waiting bows and kindling.

Lucid laughter and meals of forbearance break into now and outside wait the polarizing natural wake. On the eve of a Sunday.

thankyou

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 2:50 AM

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id like to give you all a thank youvii

im sorry i missed the banquet

but its true i love this language

this lost in the moment, treasure and the anguish

sinking feeling deep into meaning

something else sheeps and weening

on a bend a lament to laminate

the character you've twisted fate for

negates the sentiment and scapes for

the moment that they meet

with the treasure chest, of expectation estimates

rendering drops

dendria 2

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:50 PM

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built again ruins, falling away slowly, receive rennovations that transform and coo the ta'. when that seeping inner shadow plane, feels normal go it pa'. forever endearing structures of a nuisance cascading in a roman clockwork at best, time will mystify and transform that slew the star.

bar by bar up or down, and around in no complexion, waiting for connection. signals.

basic ideas, racy slices of inert artifacts. building

nothing cene or cemented.

though fashioned and effervescent,

this is easier to describe.

trouble

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:45 PM

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sensitivity is a lot like two things combined.

pencil network connectivity is a lot like a wine.

stencilled pent up directed as and at activity

is a lot like a spine.

tho the plane is in doubt in the same way.

for the matter, we have light, and light we see is or an expression of our decay.

the building blocks of tetris, like cycloptic arraignment

The Shadow Plane

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:40 PM

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so much space, an avenue... do say its cold.

on one avenue, of leisure enfibrocated effort, a legion borth it's que.

'what if not oft to of certain take triangles like normal fading issah?

then that is the shadow's space, irregardless of lot and command, the shadow relies on its inability to function independently.

'would oft fire or light command it hitherto?

the light speaketh cold and alone can be seen as all encompassing, for infront.

'not oft the light shine behind us, tho we cannot see the light?

aye.

'what for matter instill light as enlightment and fire in one's being

the very same that shine in place.

'oh for

tbc

dendria

Posted by barrett on January 23, 2014 at 2:55 PM

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scraggly branches of umbrella wannabe snapdragons, habadash the ringer for a ben franklin mishap. in those gaps and brink by brink we jump as locusts to become ordered like one such blip, in entries.          

«

Those that thaw tea

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:40 PM

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for some reason i had the idea that Christopher Columbus smelt the word "spice"

revision:

he may have smelt spices

Gargoyle (part three)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:35 PM

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Gracious gill, go graciously, guilty

Stain. Just Great, guessing

Garrison gargles rain today.

Tertiary Secant (it was a strange time in part two)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:30 PM

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Test the foil. And Remain Central

Fly the pestal, past the point of

Tesla Royal Crawl like fanblades

'till you can't see the soil.

Loyal Type treason feesibly Reaping Flats; so tangentiently mapped, I don't even feel.

Reek of havac, ad hoc, vox, populi

Moire populi proximately stops.

Etymology frost, latin fabric

Stock, short flaws paucity

prone antidisestablishmentarianism

plus talk. Rotterdam sophist plane

shocked. Cost Connote adverb.

Deneoument.

A Poe Requiem (part one)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:25 PM

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I would like to find a case of stone, being of course, ordered and inbelievably narrated as thus printed in proper format and altogether coagulated - as one might find - situated indelibly: so liberated as to communicate with a page. As oppose to ideally mentioning a black wood article in grave extinct poetic impulsivity, such as that which creates itself then follows suit, thereby retracting a facade indelibly as a moment in time reflects a moment in time, As to be unaware of distinction possibly as a denotation, connoting taste in red books and/or that which covers them ahead though not about a apage or binding dimension of something so bitter it would crease everytime you touched it forever.

good evening.

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM

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just started reading The Fellowship of the Rings, post-hobbit. the page 39 i think is the most exciting fiction i think i've read, then i went for a walk... 'thinking... "the book is about how far writers have to go."

anyway the above is some odds from my stay at a village from late Feb. to late July last year.

'battling the word bronchitis like a doctor needs the sponser, sick of sedatives a single edge making medicine a contraceptive, contrary to reason and response seeks a mild heiroglyph. tonal frequency tangential fireworks plus start dragons, read em. slash maintenance,

reperations in a box.

eyedea rest in peace.

good morning again

Posted  by barrett on January 12, 2014 at 4:00 PM

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start dragons, snapping like crabgrass. arranged like a special arrowhead. experimenting with wave tradition, in the middle of an angler's storm. when will they be caught; its cover, probably not.

to decieve and arrange the city!

the knights of the high order, under oath to cache the grass, catch the intruders, and bring trouble to malice's last.

"foam fingers"

if it wasn't for the excitement something of the highest order may be carried out... on a large flat wagon backing, with the backing of the construct's guilt.

but wait, there is smores!

victor, the candle maker arises in the first wind tunnel on there way back. "I care... us...we do not need too much flame. eaten.

and out come the flame eaters, to be continued

eight style

Posted  by barrett on January 12, 2014 at 1:30 AM

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Pluto Platonic cursed the word

It seems now, more ironic

Then ever it was where heard

Loose-spikes laconic that platitude: song is.

In a world of definition the body is least seen. Intangible greets the far-strays of what is not capable of definition. Long-breathed listing breeches the apprehension likewise. In a world of definition the body is perceived.

"and so"

-M. Averill

Journal Entries in Blood Part three

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 11:50 PM

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I don't know what is going on! I got a call from a surveryer the other day and he asked me where I lived. could it be lupus?

back in the groove.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 11:30 PM

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i sat there. their were too many distractions. there was a rubic's cube on the table. "wait till it knows you he said."  it can't be much more difficult then a spread sheet, or that's where i had to be. the colorless sticker had a logo in the middle. who in their right mind i thought. i drank some earl grey tea i had beside me, decided to give it a shot, casually comforted my torso, but let my feet detail the ornament. i pictured it perfect. corners first. how curious? i've seen it done, were those hands mine? im a mole. inside the block language, i let go of the absurd cube... and fell into revery, does this explain the cube? alrite alrite, "wait till the cube knows you'

in my bed with the thing waiting over there i found a need to make note of it. somewhere.  

for what? 'wait till it knows you'.

isolating the colors

opening jars

a jaguar ran past the window and i thought a little differently, there has to be a solution potent enough for the cube to be at one with itself, though finishing it... a time sensitive purchase. to frame? expand and demote maybe, what could all of this be, the jaguar.

don't forget

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 10:45 PM

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i can't forget octopusses.

thats because youre namesake is a suction cup.

no heed to levity

no head for s'up

sushi around the edges,

paint on the frame.

i can't forget about octopusses

how many times i can refrain

notice

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 9:20 PM

comments (1)

around where i live they changed the street lights from purple to white.

so far i've figured,

its not as luxurious a settings while walking, its quite distressing, and its brighter. in that order plus now, give or take a few levels of NaCl

warning

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:35 PM

comments (1)

the ocean is filled with octopuses. thats good i think for the time being. but squids might be inked octopuses too. either way, or, either sea creature, dendrites may look like people.

don't think too much about octopuses.

and

oil is purple i think, it doesn't turn grey does it, and black is basically lack of light, and/or not enough energy to produce the photoelectric effect, so maybe we're octopus cells, or psychologists didn't understand squids.

no evidence required.

don't use ink, or you might think its oil.

warrings.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:10 PM

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twitter representatives, ie, share holders should all say pie enought until the art of time swallows them the thing the pin as sty, in the eve of warring with a site, i cited mine as an x for such suspicion links as turuses, natural causes, inked soon like the former when everyone has popcorn but my. started thinking about when corn is grown and stuff, yup. anyways tune in too to channel two whatever news it has is certainly blue. audience scribes.

curtains

Posted  by barrett on November 27, 2013 at 8:50 PM

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the incredibly dressed man walked into the shop. there was a lot of, slightly lesser-quality-dressed men in there, of which he took a casual glance. He then turned to the cashier walking by and asked the following question: "how much for your lesser-quality scarves on display?", to which the cashier replied "your money is no good here. take a scarf." The finely clad gentleman replied, "i would like help selecting one.", to which the cashier replied. "how about the red one?", to which the finally clad gentleman replied. "yes. that is the one for me."

the first snow

Posted  by barrett on November 23, 2013 at 11:30  PM

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             With new ultraviolet lamps the wind certainly had straight up squalls in spells

and in and out evernow and in an hour by snow was seen gliding in close snowflake-like circles

on the eve of war

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 8:30 PM

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"Fellow scarecrows and blacken, tonight comes the adjoining of the fence. we do not know what will come of this, but make sure that you take this to heart... we have all served, done our part, needless to say that it is fit for each and everyone of us to remain strong. the straw candy is at the back.

travaille

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 2:30 PM

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a recipe of pure spice sat at the oven then now the table. strongly stirring was abated and the cook abscond. a lucid bond of memories on this november night, where no one could respond, eating salt and celery, onion powder and garlic, oregano and cilantro, with passed around tomato paste cans for membership. All of a sudden the cook comes back and opens the can of tomato paste. "mix!" some decided to drink, some decided to sip. the bowls were almost overflowing with the stuff. The drinks were too helpful. the spoons too overcooked. The woman in the dress faints after sayiing "oh the horror". her husband rushes to find some smelling salts but can't take it.

snake faucet

Posted  by barrett on November 19, 2013 at 9:10 PM

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If a book did a good build a house metaphor it would probably be about kids growing up.

A wot in riot, try relax tyrant.

Viper-shadow dance till both are cuspits.

An infection tolerating nothing dance as lust is,

When snake comes from the pit and languid is the rushes.

fade away type wot,i feel i could be a character in a house, but,

There is no general engineering of my own making to advance more.

Salary! take yourself higher... all the while the celery droar is empty.

I could probably write about a house with snakes and celery... I just don't know how to start.

'Possibly I need to exit more, or find a snake in the celery droar.

Maybe I need to open up a bit more, or see a droar shook like a snake.

What possibly makes a good story is the lack of snakes.

It's possible that everyone has already read a similar story.

The passage of stories are much like snakes through a house,

Top to bottom, sometimes sending more and more, from the snake-faucet.

Mainly there are gargoyles on the house, which the snakes protect.

But it could even be one short story that slid away.

clearly

Lull (the midnighter)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 7:35 PM

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seeing away from a shadow in the eyes

for chose thy habbit to dwell upon i've assured

miser to those who hold me up in time

yesterday is gone and its already now

down grounded found out, skittish, down grounded found out skittish

whereas the weakness depletes, rigging what seats, the colder you are the less your bound to know in memory leeks what seats, toss and turn in sheets.

alls well

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 6:20 PM

comments (0)

Fire like movement stayed still for spark. A hollow log. fleeing shadows stayed still for a moment. An unearthly smog. This is the place of control, no one has to wait, but wait for me now, 'for now we all stay. Croutons on the circle if it be menace, blades of grass if it be 'let us' and your drink if you think you're ready.

I'll bet your bottom dollar you thought I'd be the type with a guitar, I brought one once long ago, though it didn't help me author. This guitar has been in my keeping, for some time. I played licks, riffs, and chords that I thought were only mine. Tonight I bring you darkness and light, because that's what time it is, as we look into the fire.

This penchant for music I had ran deep. variables of sound that I would often fall asleep too, Back in the day I also studied the flute, but it took my breath away.

Anyway the song I once heard that will focus this greeting, is about the flow of instrument conception, and what the music is really getting to. I say, stay away from the instrument and play vulnerable to it's conception, the first one made already splays all of us in one direction. Fading and fading out like a cypress, once it detaches, puts up spokes or spicates for capture. and no one knows after, Let this time be a lesson to you, because its always been a sayiing, with me and the others, that its not the person, but the shadow that is what is practised

notice

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 9:20 PM

comments (1)

around where i live they changed the street lights from purple to white.

so far i've figured,

its not as luxurious a settings while walking, its quite distressing, and its brighter. in that order plus now, give or take a few levels of NaCl

warning

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:35 PM

comments (1)

the ocean is filled with octopuses. thats good i think for the time being. but squids might be inked octopuses too. either way, or, either sea creature, dendrites may look like people.

don't think too much about octopuses.

and

oil is purple i think, it doesn't turn grey does it, and black is basically lack of light, and/or not enough energy to produce the photoelectric effect, so maybe we're octopus cells, or psychologists didn't understand squids.

no evidence required.

don't use ink, or you might think its oil.

warrings.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:10 PM

comments (0)

twitter representatives, ie, share holders should all say pie enought until the art of time swallows them the thing the pin as sty, in the eve of warring with a site, i cited mine as an x for such suspicion links as turuses, natural causes, inked soon like the former when everyone has popcorn but my. started thinking about when corn is grown and stuff, yup. anyways tune in too to channel two whatever news it has is certainly blue. audience scribes.

curtains

Posted  by barrett on November 27, 2013 at 8:50 PM

comments (0)

the incredibly dressed man walked into the shop. there was a lot of, slightly lesser-quality-dressed men in there, of which he took a casual glance. He then turned to the cashier walking by and asked the following question: "how much for your lesser-quality scarves on display?", to which the cashier replied "your money is no good here. take a scarf." The finely clad gentleman replied, "i would like help selecting one.", to which the cashier replied. "how about the red one?", to which the finally clad gentleman replied. "yes. that is the one for me."

the first snow

Posted  by barrett on November 23, 2013 at 11:30  PM

comments (0)

             With new ultraviolet lamps the wind certainly had straight up squalls in spells

and in and out evernow and in an hour by snow was seen gliding in close snowflake-like circles

on the eve of war

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 8:30 PM

comments (0)

"Fellow scarecrows and blacken, tonight comes the adjoining of the fence. we do not know what will come of this, but make sure that you take this to heart... we have all served, done our part, needless to say that it is fit for each and everyone of us to remain strong. the straw candy is at the back.

travaille

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 2:30 PM

comments (0)

a recipe of pure spice sat at the oven then now the table. strongly stirring was abated and the cook abscond. a lucid bond of memories on this november night, where no one could respond, eating salt and celery, onion powder and garlic, oregano and cilantro, with passed around tomato paste cans for membership. All of a sudden the cook comes back and opens the can of tomato paste. "mix!" some decided to drink, some decided to sip. the bowls were almost overflowing with the stuff. The drinks were too helpful. the spoons too overcooked. The woman in the dress faints after sayiing "oh the horror". her husband rushes to find some smelling salts but can't take it.

snake faucet

Posted  by barrett on November 19, 2013 at 9:10 PM

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If a book did a good build a house metaphor it would probably be about kids growing up.

A wot in riot, try relax tyrant.

Viper-shadow dance till both are cuspits.

An infection tolerating nothing dance as lust is,

When snake comes from the pit and languid is the rushes.

fade away type wot,i feel i could be a character in a house, but,

There is no general engineering of my own making to advance more.

Salary! take yourself higher... all the while the celery droar is empty.

I could probably write about a house with snakes and celery... I just don't know how to start.

'Possibly I need to exit more, or find a snake in the celery droar.

Maybe I need to open up a bit more, or see a droar shook like a snake.

What possibly makes a good story is the lack of snakes.

It's possible that everyone has already read a similar story.

The passage of stories are much like snakes through a house,

Top to bottom, sometimes sending more and more, from the snake-faucet.

Mainly there are gargoyles on the house, which the snakes protect.

But it could even be one short story that slid away.

clearly

Lull (the midnighter)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 7:35 PM

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seeing away from a shadow in the eyes

for chose thy habbit to dwell upon i've assured

miser to those who hold me up in time

yesterday is gone and its already now

down grounded found out, skittish, down grounded found out skittish

whereas the weakness depletes, rigging what seats, the colder you are the less your bound to know in memory leeks what seats, toss and turn in sheets.

alls well

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 6:20 PM

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Fire like movement stayed still for spark. A hollow log. fleeing shadows stayed still for a moment. An unearthly smog. This is the place of control, no one has to wait, but wait for me now, 'for now we all stay. Croutons on the circle if it be menace, blades of grass if it be 'let us' and your drink if you think you're ready.

I'll bet your bottom dollar you thought I'd be the type with a guitar, I brought one once long ago, though it didn't help me author. This guitar has been in my keeping, for some time. I played licks, riffs, and chords that I thought were only mine. Tonight I bring you darkness and light, because that's what time it is, as we look into the fire.

This penchant for music I had ran deep. variables of sound that I would often fall asleep too, Back in the day I also studied the flute, but it took my breath away.

Anyway the song I once heard that will focus this greeting, is about the flow of instrument conception, and what the music is really getting to. I say, stay away from the instrument and play vulnerable to it's conception, the first one made already splays all of us in one direction. Fading and fading out like a cypress, once it detaches, puts up spokes or spicates for capture. and no one knows after, Let this time be a lesson to you, because its always been a sayiing, with me and the others, that its not the person, but the shadow that

indigenous allegory

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 5:50 PM

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appaulled pollen pales in comparison to the pollen that rests on petals. how it got them a long may have been a string of things though that's not what I'm taunting. windy lights but shake a bit sometimes, though we may do the same if its a certain time. years come forth but never yield, though somehow we make them, is there an ace in our defence that goes for kingdom. her majesty settled her brow, and provocatively talked in an octave key, about how it was okay to overlook some bane, and what builds us up... to movement, the darkness rising, like tomorrow was an image in a camera with some daily extracts from the extravaganza.

scratch

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 5:30 PM

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Quite like it, like it was never seen before. Amazing and conspicuous. A menace monolith, deadening the simplicity of the visit.

antinomy

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 4:35 PM

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It was off without a pence. A penchant pence for pent up thrillings. the inn keeper didn't want me to mention but though I fathomed his wisdom. he needs the slips for the slip. and a sip for sip with him is a way to lose out, though I dare not mention my arrangement now, the house down the street it shall be slipping in here and I need not tell you more. I am to clean the whole house top to bottom, without looking in the closets, and yet its all I can think of as of now.

I knock on the door

"We are just leaving." "perfect. perfect for looking through closets."

"ah you kid me."

"well, surely I will look through your closets even though you ask not of me."

"that is not wise."

"this is irrefutable."

"we shall increase your wage if you give me your word you will not look through the closets.'

"I am not in this for the wage, for you see, I am a notorious closet searcher."

"I trust you are kidding this whole time."

"Why don't we both go take a look inside one of your closets?"

that's when the man's wife came to the door.

"let's go henry."

"yes, off you go, I can't be looking through closets with all this exchange."

"he's kidding I trust."

"no, no, I shall clean your house, and look through your closets."

"just let him look through the closets."

"this is not good"

To be continued somehow

at technology

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 4:25 PM

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"look at this"

"its brilliant"

"What is it"

"I think they call it technology"

"it reminds me a flower."

"she's got to see this."

'what does it do?"

"well anything you want it to."

"how'd you get it?"

"I made it"

"out of what?"

"the old stuff"

"I have a bad feeling."

"don't worry, here have it"

\"why are you giving it to me?"

"so that you're responsible."

correction (midnighter bits)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 3:45 PM

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While drifting attached to slings and wings with this serious dart to one off side clings steering us, belted to the start... of anything or else it's missing, rifts and shelves, part and parts, clearly enough tipping, continuously lifting, a string bridge bubble stopped... so much like rain I and we almost faint as we make it below the ceiling, it's about since now I tell you in the clouds I always have a sinking feeling that's why I mention isn't there a place set for all this cradling, my word is obeying, my world so strung she almost couldn't use lungs

do you feel that jinx ice cold sculptures relocating extraneously (that's) what a jacket can do bring her home truth is i'm freezing and seeing through things quickly, you?

spot 2:50 one caged assured absurd movements make it in this place like I say like I said like I dream place encased stays but never erased debased down to zero for the moment though its always never the same, if it wasn't so much of a play placer i'd erase it, note to self: do later, no matter to charge no horse to hold up bars and in the epitome of everything i'd say it how-wronged... slipped away

like I say like I said

just mapping on the charge, it's far away somehow I know it's almost dawn, drawn to the refrain of the digits such a limit to the timid trepidation I feel, nothing reel, one's back, blissful in this soft kiss moment, I almost kneel, not allowed somehow listening to real as well seems pensive and in its peacemeal splendor I unreel a demeanor of heel pivot and off to the postulates that lost their limits

to make it, face, entropy replacement farther forth in the same direction so I can sleep.

and that

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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everyday is a learning order for disorder. More snow on your cellar door than mordor could offer. might toggle time. where offerrings of snow are like the most pleasant the tallest will get and short with thine, tho in turn a true burner of it who calls it by his quill, an upheavle into reticence, he since may mistake his grill, tho gills be hard to come by, they offer expanse, but if a fish could smoke, could it really just be thought and dance, the first time touched offering quilt from the tucker, as some often say, though id stray and be a sucker, candles and matches, could one hinge another and call itself like a gladdist, setting stone? prone to tone, alone to won? the footprints already lead indoors. "what happens when the cellar door is closed?

why that's when the wind doesn't howl as much.

eight hours allay later delay.

"this"

scary kids

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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The kid who pronounced monseiur correctly called me one, and now I think I need a doctor.

Nature habbit

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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Isolated, mixed, abused, never allowed to be, I so late, dyed an egg and meant therefore to be aware.

Start

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 5:00 PM

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Predessors'

ghost channel

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:45 PM

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here we are learning, leaning and warring over over seas, aborting plans for starlit nights with starlit kites. 'its like enjoy the kite young one, cuz when it breaks you should be strung out, or we\ll make one, anyway landing on a nuance that could populate a reason for metaphor in a poet companion, at this time we'd be watching lights move, but at this point we stand one. and finally when thee stars really come out we see the same things just on the widest crystal apparency magnetically acheiving broadness through father straws that were antler'ing into the sawdust. of to build a network of yes and no, knowledge and whats fa'struck, timid coloring from an upgathering and lots of ghosts to come. but its a hassle at this time of year, unless your ready to make snowmen. and prone to be a blend again with fences fencing in the pendulum of a creation... seriously its either the moon or the fandom, so gloriate and sorry yet, earlier we knew we found one, but at this time it\s like they're family, oh Rion, and split apart.

Worst worth

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:40 PM

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Tipping point of slang versus slang verse tipping point versus the universe.

What's worst? Birth or the end of learning? or the worst thing you can think of versus versus?

Terse movements of Earth dripping into worthwhile for the North, caverns caving in for the curse? Birth of a new proffession, lots of girth movinng sideways into the first. Though I dare to remember what's worst.

the niceness of good applejuice

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:20 PM

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oh that's good, might get some more

thank you

Posted  by barrett on November 13, 2013 at 5:35 PM

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Why is the clock the slowest processor at times? is it a gimmick? it seems all ac/dc clocks are complicated machine though why the strangest and most reliant? is strange tolerable? is it necassary to make what is often the biggest proportion interesting, almost fully literally. When will that thing on the wall at work, and by your bedside hang upside down? when will it be written? is the latter even possible? circles i guess, merit the injustice of nature, and straight lines give us a picture of what is real.ie. a real long time ago we had no measure of what we call our updated time.

untitled

Posted  by barrett on November 13, 2013 at 12:25  AM

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In September of the same year, I had started taking some philosophy classes. It was a relief to hear a professor’s voice and be around the same type. This man who sat next to me always had something to say, and I always troubled him with my questions, rather than get the professor’s textbook response.

ease combine

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 1:50 AM

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Fleeing decently receding Thee peace bequeath a Special lease undone to Thee uneasy, peacefully piecing treats and cleats to be the steam in your bereft unleashing.

Reasonably fleecing treason speeding, by beating leading, leading led on straws deleting creases in specious reasoning pleading speaking weakening bleak defeatings, deeking weaklings seeing creaking beaten fourteens, (like lying Shakespearian greetings)

Some lyrics

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:15  AM

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Astral plane travellin main making it rain in courtships with the southern hemisphere

It pits the sane against the bane of existence why flames rap around my cylindrical dame

Fame or fortune, beyond repair, vague disorder that retracts the flaps to shape the borders

We amass at centre stage taking plague pills to stand straight with the grain, korn is played out loud roars are heard our heard roams the fields in search of cookies with the help of yellow birds, tomatoes silly i get sight of word no one else can cure the ham like i can, we all say it from now on its to be debated. soft ware. thoughts pair like ruffles. truffle trifle, despite an eyefull of eggnog thats delightful when nightly chilled, its a real type night like where nikes are pronounced without the ease psych running down the street like a chain gun through belts of bullets, just like we already hit it, but wait its limping, pump another 15 inbetween

I SHARPEN MINE WITH A PORCUPINE ANVIL

TWIST RIGHT THROUGH THE FOREST LIKE RAMBO

LOOKIN UP I CAN SEE THE CANOPY TANGO

RAN OUT OF LEAVES SO I DO THE SAME TILL I CANT STAND STILL

STILT SPAN THEN A DANCE OVER TO TAMPER WITH THE RANDOM

THERES NO CONNECTION LIKE

i shake a format its raining dormats been so dormant taking hearty napps just to anchor the important, need some time stamps

erase the golden doctrine in the synapse. no one s levy enough to bout the brevity in the such is life set i say all jittery jit jit ju jitsu

i been lending beats breaks and beaks to a philosophic dove who entreats us with thoughts on love.

enough enough through the rough away away ebb out on 4 rate one one zero tarot sparrow near so

i take the bureau out. bust it up, and rob deniro

take his timestamps i need em primed and printed,

so i run to business depot, for no other reason, to complete this friggin sequence.

of mistreated hedon readings succeeding to shoddy reason.

i caught up, lost down, can't stop now, or is that all that's left to do other than be reknowned

constantly haunting thee, shores of the city. just waiting for petty pitty. hello kitty

welcome to the gritty morning drippy! catnip cacti sour milk, fourty billion bagpipes compressed into one thats compressing as one i know, its rather wintry mutiny mints be pressing coinage

to outlaw the fifty, over ten, like the quilt cakes go on forever. what i couldn't compressed with some oculence, endeavor trocking benz, was it a miracle, i sub segway into the equation to duress the mother quill staying still,

now mathematics still rocking the beat, i play a live show chalkboard scratches and screech

that dove comes back almost always so mosy or treat, this as a lament, boring as heat, heathrow, or wheat

to find the concrete solid would be solid, promise to sheet, i'll make you like the stairs

take a staircase to stars see the features form feats yours are the detours reversed and forward

lets talk a way with the run of a theoretical cave. no one can distound the word, but i propound that it might be used today

and onward we steal way to the rise of figurative sway, say siya, ger tiger druid adroit in winning bays. like it was thought from the rise of one kinda stay all the razed sand takes time to make marigolds bend for disdain ... taking orders from rhyme rate and rhyme stages. a way awya away awya away

taking time to reach the heights of midday placement, thirty seconds till i select the taste of vapour i want to takein house the truncated space favour. i might be thought astray but i walk around the minor's gold with a samsonite briefcase,

ghostship sailing without a rudder or prime directive known for frequenting the bottom dwellers

cafe halfway to armeggedon. or was it magellans last nebula a regular really to one of them, just because within the perfect beginnings now the serpents bellow, trembling sirens to vibratto and spacemermaids retelling of the chirades we surfaced as we become part of the wayward tasteless face off complacents stasis. mongering for the love of targeting ongoing rowing like it was a safe november remember me december before i turn all cold and the harpoons sharpen, or is it that the whale hunt broadens. at worlds with atwood saturating avenues with lampwick, can't collide within perfect spellings or desert dwellings ill forever be a nomad if i can't depict my addressing

when the sun warms up to a more spacious leash, i'll find the eclipse at zero anywhere then considered east, feast upon the pragmatism of a less collected beast, i beleive we could direct the warmth if we weren't such a leach.

but from astronomical units a way! trompe de loeil anyway tropical fish could say that they were the spacemermaids if we created an atlantis out of the moons dazzling race. we are moonmen, straight from sol. we ebb out when we we're home and flow when we're alone, saddling the satellite, we're prone to find our way through the ozone

to beseech the moon for a nightcap we dazzle if we say.during the night timbre an unhearty right of ways. say slay midnight a rigormortis today simpler. i'll see you in the sky maybe you could even decay yourorbit and yourself as atlantis create. i'll wonder why i never swam to the moon reflection sooner cuz thats what the scene looks like today anyway and im guessing that thats where i'll find poseidon, namor, my living self, need i say more, i already patched an echo, thoughts on techno. if i wasn't on a ghost pirate ship i'd say hellno.

but i am, man and energy, combatting trams, just to reflect on techno. i blame technology and i don't want to let go of this 3 dimensional circular pancake special

regimented invented sentences go beyond reflection to the source caveat the cohort about this sort of rhythmic aggression. is it right to sport the thunder from the enlightning sounds which one dismisses your retention and rounds off the order for mention the voice that goes before the penchant for this... hedge cut by edward with handhands,

those who know, slowly form 3d spirals cascading rival circular articles.

perhaps charred at the centre, which they never winter or reach farther than

but come to terms with as the enter. o

ffending off hand remarks with off ended marks

it got them on the naughty list. i'll take the shelves over cars.

my self as the trough, clearly the mirror doesn't even delay like that

what about stars, ripped from the crux, of cuba or art, wherefore art though shard

of diamond, to rip the glass apart

and spread time farther into this apartment's heart

second hand practically dipping, the ringdom's king won't accept infringing

for we all talk of wisdom, but when we see it, fear impinges.

i guess thats why the fireplace distances the grinch, can fire really do that timid

i enter, watching fear dissolve, probably fallacy will glady rattle me till i

make it around our galaxy. tattle be: he sat upon a comfy seat, used his hands to run along with sheep

thats how the wolf leans posit r in the nearest neutron star so we all can see

now: clandestine, arresting and reversing first impressions, neglecting mention of the monolithic beginnings

the talk of wisdom, repetitious system driven listen kissing. serving spaceships-and- remaining distant im sans which one track former 5letter wiccan tonal rhythm beta cheiftain fact checking missionary warner brother in the rights of written painstaking freedoms given by the statutes of any listener with a written consent form from themselves in triplicate sitting lightly on the statue of liberty within limits, lest fence intrinsic power trippin. dippin into doves, loud and runny, the dog barks, not because its hungry. maybe tryna be funny. can't wait until its sunny.

maybe this one will be far enough away not to mention wrongs.

i take the tongs, ostrich egg and think hard

theirs got to be a way to baldwin these 2 and a half articles into a song

tongs, ostrich egg

tongs, ostrich egg, song

theres no limit think of plymouth talkin stephen hawkins theory finished

singularities please, points of no return... believe, we all can sneeze our way out of a feesibly incandescent beam decay, asscent from turbulent censorship. ..bent on bringing out the zest from the best of the less frequent orange tips and depth.

might as well turn a profit, rest and sip, erupting through the roster would have to be dollarage star sign tolerable milestone doctorate imposters

talking over lemonade like they lost the game.

but its funny how it happens some don't feel ashamed.

is it up to them or us to find the just in just a jist of the business sifting through it

like we weren't impressive, impressing triplicates like they said all the while

meanwhile the meandering catalouge the froglike fossils

round off the relics to shear impossible

so where the crystal at, its calling kane and i aint a palladin yet i cant escape these trap doors that enforces that theres a force that doesn't want me getting close to a pure geometric source, now i know this wasn't in the brochure but i do read more, into the lore that says the mystical quest has been dealt with, i thought cid died, hes always coming back

and it all came together like anythin but fairweather such antithetical proclamations cant get any better, down a river, about a route down a river to the root

it was all the same till your name graced the page now im outta redundancies other than grey crock tame. lil advil beggar with a cane sugar its abundant like flame igniting the rudder im fighting the shudder of a 7th inning stretch with no where to place bets but at least theres

its wonderful and cumbersome to be in love with the way something sounds

seriously troublesome to be running out of sound. i take apart a three of hearts with my bare hands for no other reason than speaking bound to text and

through the wire, patches fire is scented luncheon latches lock and higher places are rented

the unlimited premonitions of a license to feel symply isn't rhythmic

its symbolic though mainly systolic diastolic when you don't really feel, something's still turning the wheel. and whats yield-ed is.

This brink sparked how,way at mad him reflect. He couldn't possibly, but that didn't restrict the limits of independence.

I break a bushel and shuffle into the city centre, mentoring an artiste with no headtrip that got the better of me. Just waiting to delete the layers of snowdrift amounting amounting bit by bit on typed strips of thin clipped papyrus enticing systems of revision like listening to televisions on the warring channel blips conspire rhythm on the ss give me more the trick is timid wisdoms like shake a stick at the wired wisps and the crispex perspectivisms dishing out the dirt on the

Some lyrics

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:10  AM

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i

April 2nd, 2012

It's got to be April Second today. It can't be April First everyday can it? Well can it.

Well-crafted

its puzzling the rubble road ending at the hubble telescope,

never, always, sometimes, sure. x3

is it elastic... bands which keep me rapping?

fans in tandem with never that keep me yapping, trapping, twisting, listing, pure. thoughts which rebound on such allure. or in this state, fraught?

drought demur, i can't be lost. what creates the boundaries for our mundane world?

is it always this way, sometimes i can concur but though contradict and control lore. what wit has to do with it aches in the cortex, not too sure

though,

so i make. strides to arrive/ when the tying trolls an and that just has to roll, was it planned? a plateau that makes for tired souls and focus follows so i'll make the next few golden gilded. i lifted an instrument, bored into the mountainous monument to songs that are stricken from the record!,

can i say it moved me at least daccord daccord, in accord with the bylines beats resting easy in silent sheets. white snow on the streets

So what moves feet?- now featured, in a league or two of melted water

Scattered first then drained like a teacher. note well i can't control these spells i cast well i just borrow from the well that can be an addendum, like nintendo with super prefix or powers to uplift.

Now that gravity's gotten in, whats holding us down? i realize its a perfect world when i hear the right sound. din din dimmer, at a simmer with the alter, faltering to proctor this unstarved artist any farther.

I caught her eyeing the words, now this i am told

Is whats not supposed to happen without the help of chords. but we all can think right? I Hope we can all think right

Crash test sillilloquy silly statements made by you or me, verbatim work there way into decency.

Being decendents of harnessing ill remembrance of narsissustic thrills are overkill, like this beat but i'll rap on it still. what way should i drill seargeant. calling bosses by loosely linked synonyms is bringing in the losses. tossed to far to the opposite position rocking pauses because its as fast as ever. never sever ties with losses its costly like faucets probably are and cars and trucks and plains and trains and bars and tucks and spain is specially to spaniards connected to layniards are pick locks we all share the same home with rich parts like stirred marts. correction we now have an occupation occupation malapropped up against the hedgehog detour speed to level out the authenticity. i lost myself in recency reticently reliving read recording rarities ranging relatively rational relevancy to reiterate maybe. really? Reality rarely rivets wrongs with rights but i may have just changed mind tonight.

Trains on planes, walking the planck to tank at the box office.

Crystal dancers prancing on tunics of the lost world topple

Down to the stomach seinfeld sillouhette, still young yet he

Could correspond with the weathered years like a snowstorm yeti

Begetting a ready crowd of setis to link back the living steady

Infultrate his messy system full of fibre optic cables

Breaking fawns to flora doglsled called beverly

A lacy white strap falls from the synapse to anybody willing to grapple

The stamp pro whos able and willing, to pick apart a 5 piece perforated on the table and chilling

In dry ice, wry vice, no ones nicer than the number two typewriter cable connector illing to fare

Up the world with the balsamic vinegarrette salad dressing while nesting are

The stairs and the cupboards, fuck it we'll take cupboards and ride em over fjords

Assured we make the right choice when mine is yours and backwards

Trample over avalanche calibre remonstrances, just mashing the synapses collapses

These rap synthesis financial vibrant title geist dish guising at night in lapses

Of theoretical tangential argumentative vibratto elemental pineapple to be sure spazzes

Tear the traps back, let in the footprint of your phone's app.

No one needed to feed it these things are metal, as soon as its defeated you retract the get go

Which is now in your possesion a lesson in meddaling token medallion for your confection

Arresting the eyes of onlookers, even offlookers, can't stop/// i guess i can

Trains on planes, walking the planck to tank at the box office.

Crystal dancers prancing on tunics of the lost world topple

Down to the stomach seinfeld sillouhette, still young yet he

Could correspond with the weathered years like a snowstorm yeti

Begetting a ready crowd of setis to link back the living steady

Infultrate his messy system full of fibre optic cables

Breaking fawns to flora doglsled called beverly

A lacy white strap falls from the synapse to anybody willing to grapple

The stamp pro whos able and willing, to pick apart a 5 piece perforated on the table and chilling

In dry ice, wry vice, no ones nicer than the number two typewriter cable connector illing to fare

Up the world with the balsamic vinegarrette salad dressing while nesting are

The stairs and the cupboards, fuck it we'll take cupboards and ride em over fjords

Assured we make the right choice when mine is yours and backwards

Trample over avalanche calibre remonstrances, just mashing the synapses collapses

These rap synthesis financial vibrant title geist dish guising at night in lapses

Of theoretical tangential argumentative vibratto elemental pineapple to be sure spazzes

Tear the traps back, let in the footprint of your phone's app.

No one needed to feed it these things are metal, as soon as its defeated you retract the get go

Which is now in your possesion a lesson in meddaling token medallion for your confection

Arresting the eyes of onlookers, even offlookers, can't stop/// i guess i can

Thought beleivers would hold levers holy orders of receivers bell payphone outta order can i leave yours. notes to the quota iota i tote a hindrence of my symptoms i oughtave wrote a prescription for a different octave in a notarized alibi for those who fly in planes when the spherical properties of contingency realize it forms itself like alphabetically papoose did. a truce with the wealth of words say im stupid. now active practice makes time short. and bends around the belt ...so in the long run thats for me to decide thrice triplicate try for more order an ornate celebrate once you finish the song

\

With a wayward way with words, i fleece a million dollar bill on the back of a polo shirt. whatever will whatever won't gathers in the fabric, seats rich drones through a hat trick.

Please matches coalesce with the bones of a rubric, the rural timid ration, of the fusion.

Of tact and tease, passion, test and tone, bastion with a tunic round the bureaucratic mention of the first men that lives with a ransom noting the music. that some dance on, alone with the all, and in with the ruins of the contract ceased lest it hone the sound of lactic acid thats all around it, these adroit figures figure ligaments while the others offer impediment, and usher in new ways to connect us, to spacious blent platforms where we trek truss bridges and get around to stupendous feats

Theres a world outside of here

Whether its close far or near farther there farthest i don't care

Im going and ill change this place

Maybe once im gone ill walk away

/its unnerving the birdwings i use to break the turnpike. my inner workings, morphing like a fashion trend. satellite heights. call it a site. geo geo station synchro retrograde negation in one way street wise meet placates the defeat of common traitors acting as commontaiters by definition only save your selves from conch shells or rebel. hell i'll even throw in wealth! At war with the will to cover still covert stilts tbat i set up to stop the bells ... ...like they say: rock them shelled from the hardplace, shelled by the inbetween. like the rock use to say to man and still can you smell what the rock is cooking. just to make slang for all my children

I don't want to be in settlement, id rather just pick you a better man. how can i hide from this integrational replacable bed again

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

Wheres the wonder gone, or is it here under the papers. oh the save yourself games we deem as majors, like! Tame yours and unfold your relatively dull straight rapier. fence to fence to fence to fence. to be again under the selfsame sky, i might be dense to wonder what id have to drink. probably die. spend the whole afterlife not having to try to relax relatively, because i got drunk and into a swordfight. how silly

No no no no here the wonder has tatooed curtains on its its belly. with angel wings on its tassles and blows a dog whistle to stretch the limits like i did. tried to relax and faxed a whole pig inside myself. fiddled with the control panel in my computer with the intent to install more software. didn't run smooth weird

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

They say stress is a syllable impressed with itself at rest. at least i think they do to test, if it is with those that want it that way. cuz they sit

On the fence. but to no fence sitter is there a letter also deemed a number that could follow the letter i could write cest la vie deemable as a number, you could smell the ink. to bad im on a computer now don't you think its sad to have to laugh at the jokes that aren't funny thats why we need more staff writers with less stressed out math

Matchable word wrap rappable stapled papable reiterationaly detainable strung out silly\

To no fence sitter is this pity

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

It comes from pockets, this lake lorn to profits sa storm forever marketted

In bed reassured locketed with a better stirred rocketship straw like they bend around the universal paltry

Faulty draw bridge cursed to doctor the author to balk at marker tips/ and fellow ships

Hello grips. yalls fools, in order, target stripped. like borders thatll be clipped

So how bout we dip into the sprinkles ya dig got it rigged

Reverse psychology never worked its a fib

Coerced within the drab, sadist symtematic live life logger's mill

I got a lotta milk to spill so cry your eyes out against that windowsill

Wu tang widow few can sit through full blown metal thats why its done in chambers

Little by little

We're really stars, talk about large, we're living legends rhythmic system bobbing within a symbolic farce. tardy for the charge of the trade that displaces chemical bonds a series of pawns that are normal can conceive but can't believe that two that couldn't can't relive what they releave through. kinda coalesces cuz none were made i think there was an issue of the globe and mail that relates, call it late to the place meant for the race, that reinstates you as a muse to my tape deck

Half way down we split we call the biggest bluffs, take the chips, and realize the stuff we're made of isn't rushed /its a slowburn bottom feeding toss to turn it up alright defeating of the dismal, this won't go away i try to rough it out and for years don't know how long its been though /it doesn't matter, ive seen the sad skies, asked the wise whys, flipped the coins twice. ripped the package open and seen you in a bag of rice for now i'll warm the ice of your impress/ id guess youd stress alone had so many bricks admiring the structure of your home. is it just to look at you id king my castle if i had to but i play kinda rude, no time to plan it out, just gotta get into your shoes. run about, collect the collapses, like past tense was fashioned.

I shift sands while i walk, shake hands while i talk, cheap brands when shop its all the same to the doc. stocked shelves in the past, been in locked cells thoughts fast with nothing to do but hold fast. chalked cues by myself not at the same time, but maybe impressed ladies with nothing but an envelope that was never opened i think its barely spoken but it happened and im lately overrated by sundry hate-mes thought a girl was giving birth to a baby sang my song by the same name to make it less shady had an impromtu date with an 18 year old babe sharing sad stories while i was staring into nowhere mostly was the host to a rave scene at least thats what the drugs got me saying held a prayer position too long to get them to notice i might be praying playing the 5 same songs thats still going on patients passed me by while i waited last man in the spaceship till the same cell became vacant, been there a few times racing all alone to facilitate the same which i Hope will remain clandestine till i figure out the name realized the whole banal thing was a shame had a bagel with herb and garlic, untoasted, talked in frog throat, realized i said tart lit, and many things that i didn't spit, spit like rambo, wrote about rambo, metacarpal workouts pretending to play the strings had a stand still smoked so many cigarettes drank a shot of alcohol and i think its still affecting me, saw my mom vanish in her hall and something mightve jumped out from the tree. found out it was hard to believe in a static frivolity played super mario two player without luigi, think i sat through one movie. got close before watching good will hunting till it became love scenes burnt plaid in my jeans, durst fad with the scene, cursed out loud with a serbian in the suburbs who has dreams. wrote words not knowing what the mean, kinda... read a little nietzche figuratively speaking

I take the stair case, put it in my briefcase. my legs were sore, so i soar over there say: were you aware im the rarist terrorist bearing garish overbearing parents who say no more swearing to be the fairest.

There there rest. i take a pairing of stairing to work the wearing. what is this really? Could there be more sharing. up to the minute news nightly for our type of daring. darlings markings on my skin from the offering talking out loud in syncopation

Rest assure the words that i could walk around your were were never worn till this my goodsir take one step down from your throne and pardon the yearning, learning, burning, discerning, confusing barely tolerated person myself one addict churning socratic thought to balance with balm and blame his decided practice all the while the worlds turning the furnace is a convent for my inner workings where terms lurking become birthing females some loved and some hurting some unavailable some turn pale. whatever worms its way to the surface, i cherish and wail, brandish till they stop working so i may stay and avail.

All i ask is some ears to my leers and gazes inside the lab and the mazes to phase with a stasis of my voice and patience for its not fraught with good form yet yet it might shape this whole place into a palace, the talent

Notably fastened to the cork of granite leaking out the backhand. digits rivet sifting on the bandstand. grandslam to

1Patrick Stewart – best known for his role as Captain Jean-Luc Picard on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

i Like patterns, like phantoms, like saturn, like lanterns. (like saturn, like patterns, like lanterns like phantoms.)

posies

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:05  AM

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Shaped with a hand so gentle, yet strong

It's instantly burnt and hardened. Like lentils

The vase pronounciation gentled,and drawn

And a flower for my pardon. Daffodil

in simplicity i wander like a child, too complex for the cows to come home. the scenery blends in with me like a bus-bust going for broke.

the soap i used totes, but I virtually know no one.

now you should know, that if you're reading this, there are certain words that just stick out, like hollograms. take a piece of me...

if there were an essay on it, it'd be titled: Those Who Know Me Know. I can act like I read it. hey, again, but really its just the dice. on a different starbust candy tranquility spin i realize i am only what i make of myself, call this the denoument.

there is no cafe,

there are no more intruder sundial batteries

i wish i could say something was true. days seem quill/

maybe it's maybellene

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:05  AM

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so, someone got change for a $1000 bill

This is the wildest adventure you've ever been on.

Girls, grills, gills

I swam till i couldn't sea the shore, in the sands of our lies.

Running thin, on empty, and I shift my head just to realize.

I wonder how long it will take for my posture to collaborate.

If there were an easier way to say I told you so, I wouldn't.

but i melt around the edges and evaporate in turn.

And yearn for a yeilding, that doesn't even earn.

Sporadic spirally spells of sepsis, if thats well,

correct then i was guessing, and i thought it too as wells.

This is the dawning.

The

Dawning.

In the land known as Patience, representatives have patience. They are practically representing, patiently, presenting their respective land known as patience. There are no doctors, just patients.

In the land known as Doctors, representatives have credentials. They are without practice, patiently waiting for patients.

The doctors built a ship, and docked Patience. For about 3 years, nothing happened, but everyone was patient.

The patients built a ship, and landed on Doctors. Immediately the patience had docked. Credibility of their respective home had failed.

Years later, the son of God led them all back home.

The patients on Patience. And the doctors on Doctors.

Thinking back, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I hear Billy became a stockbroke, I still think about him every time I pass through the city. Ryan passed away in a trainwreck. What a trainwreck.

This is not a dream. The red numbers blink. Celia needs to get to class. I start the motorcycle, she is already out the door. She mounts the leather seat. I look away. We're already on the way. She takes off her helmet after the engine stops, I take it, and she glides into the institution graced finally with her presence.

She sits tapping her pencil on the desk, the professor is trying to see her take note. She just breaks the pencil somehow. The professor points to the door, and tells her to read chapter seven. She walks out the door quietly. The whole faculty just dies a little inside. She is already out the door. I look away. We're already on the way.

This is not a dream. The red numbers blink. Celia needs to get to class. I start the motorcycle, she is already out the door. She mounts the leather seat. I look away. We're already on the way. She takes off her helmet after the engine stops, I take it and she glides into the institution graced finally with her presence.

She sits tapping her pencil on the desk, the professor is trying to see her take note. She just breaks the pencil somehow. The professor points to the door, and tells her to read chapter eight. She walks out the door quietly. The whole faculty just dies a little inside. She is already out the door. I look away. We're already on the way.

This verse abridgement of my first project: Sewn Crates revised April 17th, 2012, 19:00.

Sewn Crates

Epilouge

Some writing can be Sewn, as so. His silly, but mainly: influential, writing, in some places known as negligee parts...Where, some don’t assume positions of retained-anything-at-all, for

they retain creativity constantly, creating a void of tolerance. But by what bias does the distinction between poise and constancy become immeasureable.

In other words, when do we consider which is best?

It takes only a matter of time in a truer sense to see what.

“So what do we make of truth?” The Sewn idiosyncratic collection of thoughts put together to be part of this endeavor notably.

“Well, it has to be time, or sequential apartment inside thereof.”

“A path between points might stumble on some segment of the answer.”

...But she is brash as the brass: arriving thorough jazz of lucidity.

brick a brack

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:55  PM

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This morning was different. The sun had already made its way past and over the shrub. It couldn’t have been me. As I walked along the brick and what? Plastic structures I envisioned the place from a top-down angle, it seemed wonderfully cloying, for the time being, seeing it, with reason, was enough to dream.

Sarah woke up off the bed and parted her hair, alone… shook her head and went straight for the kitchen. Out the window she saw the houses and shrub and shrubs. She had just reached for the cabinet when Allen came back from his walk, he’d be having coffee too.

“Sarah, I think it’s time we…” he abruptly paused.

Sarah reached the instant and smiled to him with a turn-out-pout in assuming.

“There are just too many bricks. We’re living in a brick cult or something…” Allen trailed off and sat down, “some for me.”

I knocked on their door where they retold the

While the poet practises philosophy...

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:25  PM

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Through a torn implement of a derivative of something subjective, translated where no relationship exists, I pirate an alien tongue to make you slave to the wonders of fun readership.

Nietzsche: The philosopher usually quotes the poet.

"smash my harp onstage"

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:50 PM

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newt

a baby newt watching destiny.

fell in love with albany.

all crazy and felt, like a rail in a felt.

the stealth belt melted weltd

Total War Part three, and the startling beginning!

The fighter plains came below the ceiling and the Japanese destroyer stopped in the water, the few anti-aircraft guns slowly and laboriously positioned themselves to predict the flight path of the almost versatile American aircraft. Suddenly the most versatile aircraft made their way from the west, the destroyer shot in front of the intercept path of the American aircraft.

The American aircraft two by two split up, the two west most dipping under the flightpath and towards the destroyer, the other two heading directly towards the Japanese aircraft going as slow as possible.

American transmission:

"Move in from the Indian."

The flak exploded, the planes fired, the propellers roared and the subs searched for each other.

American Transmission:

"Scramble."

There were 4 Japanese planes, they all went down towards the destroyer firing precisely behind the flightpath of the two American Mustangs that were headed for a death sentence. The other two Mustangs fell to intercept the two aforementioned Japanese aircrafts. They were gradually torn apart by the other two Japanese aircrafts.

TBC

Space Lakes Poetry, plus infinity stuff too!

The stars arranged in waves, of replete figureheads seizing lovers’ eyes.

By far the rearranged slaves, were defeated, leading to cover thighs.

At large the paved derringers, were seated after hovering thrice.

So

I’m a poet, I take pages.

And crump on the podium of precedence.

Drunk all the time on love,

Seeing straight through the steel bars.

Posted 1 year ago

meadow

So they walked through the meadow, half sullen, half sunken. The deep end again. He grabbed her by the turned coat and kissed her in midair. She thought deeply right away. He broke the lock that bonded them substituting his astute, and trembling lips accordingly. Of course it was cold, it was always cold here.

The snow fall flaked, For just one day, And it had them distraught, With what came there way.

trail blazer

i was walking in the forest aloof!

with no shoes on my feet, new chew in my tooth!

all of a sudden, I realized something!

The one’s who knew were family too!

So i travelled past the mountains in a flash!

dashed through the tropics in my past!

got around the world in under 80 days

reminded myself it was all a dream, i mean stage.

no one was listening, when the relic hunter came on television.

i guess no one wanted to search for treasure.

or they found it, and had preforsaken it luck it was sunken.

no one remembers the how about a luncheon!

deserted island phonetic witness, to the drastic plastic, hold fast kid.

timex.

rolex

i’ll take a brief habbo to remind you briefly.

Posted 1 year ago

eyeglasses

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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stockpiled insufferable malaise mayonnaise outfitter. a title I once hold in good standing, though my new one unabashed regulator suspicion hunter is more to my liking, though I might've liked it If I suddenly went backwards.

a sir lancelot

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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the dragon table they called it.

a lamp upon.

no doubt one was talking

when another fell out.

strange enough it was platonic.

like the board.

gypsies, gypsies, unicorns.

two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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In retrospect I noticed nothing but hands on the clock. The, or what used to be the five, was now a somnolent elevated fracture of a fault line. I mean it could have been a three, no, that would have made it more of what is was and/or trying to be.

As I closed my eyes again I tried quite hard to remember the time, it seemed that it's only requisite feature was that it wasn't really moving.

I take it for granted that it doesn't remember me. Though it had several dislocated minute particles, which reinforced the irregularities, which lead me to believe, that in fact it may have been me, that was indirectly surfacing an extraneous amount of attention towards it's fortunate twice removed indecision, stretching.

A Person eating a croissant in D minor

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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"Delish." Bryant said. "Just, delish. Milkman, brush my gums with 3 ounces."

"Only if you say so."

Spring Paint

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM

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Snail bold entangle

Servicing built mold mallet

weaving a next hour.

Sail build nautical

Surviving billed miled mollusk

Welding a next hour.

Bale full of caskets

Bringing fledged files wild

Dying, dying durst,

Fraying those flasks'

Tailors on a ship fledged

Dyng, drying reign.

Bleakly abiding

Rain. providing provisions

The darkness cold as,

Faint, drying, nice! Spiced

Emergent flame slain vice

Breaking fees feed fleet

"To society"

Captain called slower cranks.

"We'll" Wheel "we're" well well.

It was an Ideal.

text space

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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Start, I did, once, at lost.

I found a lot.

Out of gaze.

Listening to paradise.

Mastering the flow.

Of where is lost.

Vice.

Is my spice of life?

trite communique

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:35 PM

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Although youth can be fleeting in an impartial clause to retreat, meeting of such distinct distinction can often suffer meet. Alas, in order to become a due, must defend where and when without a reason to offend. By what starry matter do we rise and fall to be patient enough to seek refuge in death? or do we pretend?

Perhaps night shades the intolerable, and the sun soaks the valuable, and the twilight speaks to mollify the all able in creationism on the fly. With such summits of surpass!

The predestined, find ways to allay. The tolerability holds buoyantly, and lastly the changing is dope, so I cut in line at the refreshment table holding a nine with a peace sign. Perfectly constructing a change in demeanor as expressed, presses the certain issue, and the rain must fall as well, plus the moving of the heavens, including but not to mention.

one

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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I was sitting in the middle of an NRA meeting, again. Fran was trying to have a smoke. The biggest gun we got to talk about today was a new Mississippi brand sawed off mod of a single-barrel revolver.

She says, "Pronto, let me have this right now!" To which everyone just wants her to hold the thing.

Some guy at the back opens a tin can and tries to make it louder than it was. Fran doesn't like that, is what I'm thinking. She gently takes the Mississippi loose weight, spins it around, some new guy from, well probably Mississippi walks in and I make myself scarce. Finally, she drops it and I get to hold the thing

«

While the poet practises philosophy...

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:25  PM

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Through a torn implement of a derivative of something subjective, translated where no relationship exists, I pirate an alien tongue to make you slave to the wonders of fun readership.

Nietzsche: The philosopher usually quotes the poet.

"smash my harp onstage"

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:50 PM

comments (0)

newt

a baby newt watching destiny.

fell in love with albany.

all crazy and felt, like a rail in a felt.

the stealth belt melted weltd

The rain stopped and Dreifus was truly gone, Gezabelle made a snide remark about how Dreifus always fucked shit up. Damian chirped. Prince Scarlet, uncapped the bottle and poured it on the glowing axe. He thought a little faster and gave the beaker to Gezabelle. Gezabelle neglected the axe and Damian appeared. Prince Scarlet cradled the axe into striking position and swung it aiming for Gezabelle’s neck.

TBC

Categorical Imperative,

The categorical imperative is selecting an imperative to execute.To decide what you are.

Going beyond things is the most compromising you can do. It astounds and transforms the boundaries of compromise. Now, I won’t compromise while invading the jurisdiction of formative collaborations, but there is to be noted that, among us, we live with formations of rocks, fences, and meadows. But condolences aside, there is no vague idea for the input that goes unfounded, no one ever finds the solace they’ve truly ignored.

Contrary to belief, it is a good idea to transcend freedom; this is the meaning of freedom. If we are not freeing our transformative opinions, then we are not recognizing solace.

Now, with respect to the geometric simulation of transformation it is really not out of place, just recapitulated slightly within the imagination and imagination’s grid. Whichever way you look at it, you reassign the configuration into accordance with whatever symbolic representation you want to enlighten. It’s not rocket science.

Rocket Science,

Preperation is key to success. Just configure the solace that you misttakenly guided into the Sun. “Sol” if you will.

Now, if there are a few things acting on a rocket, then there will be a net gain of ordinance. Any which way you transform a free thing, you will transcend it’s transcendental freedom.

Starship Enterprise,

I am under attack.

The Stigma of Mental Illness,

Many people are afraid of mental illness, they think that the ones who have a mental illness are somewhat flawed, and they would like to help them. They do not like to help though, therefore they take the fall by falling under the categorical imperative.

Midnight Starship…

The milky way reflects on the surface of the lake,

Slowly walking away at light speed, surfacing tension and calibre.

And even wagon of dialect graces the ripple of a new dimension.

And we all look back to the land.

WE’ve blasted off again,

out of time, and out of space.

There is no way home Christopher…

You are slowly getting more united with

whatever takes you, and rocks you back and forth.

Pray tell, what is your dialect?

is it the ebb and flow of humanity?

are we a weeping ocean of waters?

Do we sail at night wondering the earth?

Is there really a way out of the impure stature of a forebearance?

how do we succintly stoutly, softly ebb out like you.

Rock me back and forth.

Carousel Distinction.

You are not a fucking Horse.

Wet Napkins,

You bloody pinpricart.

doth though feel limp?

Haggle your way through my snaggle tooth

and rinse out your woven texture abundant,

The Navy Blue Cross,

We are the Hindsight of Malpractice,

We are the true Total Menace of Wrought Desire.

We sail above the rafters, and travel gallantly through the fog.

Always sending good men to the Crimson.

Oceanic Letters of Revelery.

Dear Mom,

Ever since I’ve been on this thing, this ship, I’ve been sick. Home sick mostly. I don’t know when I’ll reach home, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll be homesick then as well. I remember your apple pies and the way you treated me like I was a good son, but I think I’ll take Dad’s side on this one and say that I’m just sick.

Dear Dad,

I respect myself now.

Turbulent Fossilization,

Posted 1 year ago

all i need is one mic, and maybe a record contract… rs im looking at you

i battled ballads my beloved rattled with atlantic salmon and travelled above to see the sandman coming, but theres nothing like a muffin from a lady that made you go on and on about nothing like you were punched in the face thrice. enticing victims of the lovely, roughing tridents just to make the blood stop coming. and i rap in fact inside my residence, which takes precedence, but we both watch futurama, where i’m obama, and who santa can’t gift me more than my granma but the llamas that i phathom can’t take lamoz classes because its random. land one, land two, land three and your outlandishly standing at cubical tenement where the roof’s become a sheet landmine plant a flag fragment to mention mine, and yo you can wine and dine any rhyme but the rhythm is decision. so i’ll take you to my ordinary village where i become a villain, take my pills and avoid children, spilling guts like a mut who ate grass and talked to us. you can fuss and dust and rust but rustem. wait buttons! flutter over supper and sputter out crumbs like an usher. im a pencil pusher, but i only push myself to push that pencil aside, and take a stride into the wood, where it could be like santa, but wouldn’t even matter if you were madder, so sad to see you look down, im sorry old lady but i see youre smile as a frown, sometimes i drown in the gown i could create for my sound, like now, but love how? with no other way to do it unless i play cupid with ashtrays, spades, dig me up when you learn to behave. someone save me a square dance till you’re there and sing till you’re rare. bear this tip in mind kevin smith has two eyes in it, and that has two e’s, off me please, are you happy now you beeseech? treason in front of treason, to the sides: reason, now im pleading, mercury is fine, but i know you got a blue tinted visor that reflects signs.

Posted 1 year ago

yo

sigh, citation, invitation, invention, tantrum, tantra, mantra, mammoth, hammers width, famished gift, selfish gift, travel tips, exponent life, life, sift, tif, blip, pill boxes that shot the doctor’s patience. mason’s take on staking the stranded with underhanded band famished land of lost atomized tyrants, based in cincinnati the way a rowdy saddist might mechanize his favourite doll faced doll face. face doll. ollie over and forget about surfing the net for me, because we’re all part of this, it’s you, it’s me. v v v icodan icarine… buy my fucking book if you can’t wait…. anyway, i just put myself down the same way, anyway i would like you to know i will be at the cliffs, if you want you can meet me there. ‘listened to two of the three meter feeder’s . who does w/e think ? anyway, id like you to know. there are astronomers that are backwards but there are satellites too.!

Reblogged 1 year ago from philphys-deactivated20120616 (Originally from 9gag)

2,926 notes

Source: 9gag

some new stuff.

Recumbrant diction is a must-get fiction, frictionless, and imprisoned by etcetera throughout the district. Distinct and cheerful, the precinct quoted an imbecile and put the fashion trend into the motorized vehicle. Already a speeder, flashing demons the cheaters without poise or purpose or pronounced public speekers. Those who know, know. And those who don’t, know.

Okay double down on the pirate envy and wrap an m-16-macheti around your dark navy tribe. no one is offering you any more bromides. so in distinction with reliving the centre of a intrinsic pistol postulate, relegations of negations go famished for the one without a taste for apathy adjoins the furiously comprehending syntax.

If it were up to me, I’d look down upon you all.

Hey is for horses.

Three days later,

Welcome, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but I’m busy at dueling with prose…

1.

Darling, no farthing is farther than my grasp. You are a scent, even your weakest, most fragile moment is silence. Let me try to caress your golden locks. Yes, quite. anyway, i thought i’d let you know I’m heading to the cliffs, you can meet me there if… anyway, let me caress your metronome. I’m sure my heart beats faster. anyway, i t hought i’d let you know that im heading to the clif. yo,

2. hey hey its your’s

3. Try to sty the virus that stylus want to be moody assistant. But don’t reveal the secret passenger code! oh no oh no oh no! Have no fear, my whims are heard. Yo, i just want to let you know, I’ll be going to the seal. hey, appeal, up here, altreal.

Vivid was the interplay, surrounded was the dismay, relaxed was the way of life, and intricately woven was the beautiful heir.

Listen, I don’t want to come off naive, but isn’t it you that I see in my reason. ‘Pleasing thank you’s at every turn. It is your turn.

4. Catch me if you can re:

3. I told you, didn’t I?

2.

1. I wanted to tell you, I’ll be.

and now for something completely different:

Formulaic racecar drivers are familiar with the track. Oswald was clever enough to spot Waldo a Subaru for nothing but noting. Twinkling a toting was the voting for Waldo to trophy.

"This Subaru handles curves."

"What doesn’t?"

"good point."

ethics or pride?

and now for something exactly the same

Formulaic racecar drivers are familiar with the track. Oswald was clever enough to spot Waldo a Subaru for nothing but noting. Twinkling a toting was the voting for Waldo to trophy.

"This Subaru handles curves."

"What doesn’t?"

"good point."

ethics or pride?

and now for something, outrageous!

Yo, ollie, lets take the trolley, to the mall, he, the volleyboy, is about to be destroyed… i mean employed, by the way he gathers baskets and weaves in certain tapestries. Baby! Lady! Maybe freckles all over my petals.

Chance of flurries.

Warm your bureaus

I’m about to get aromatic.

Daffodil distant, can’t even fly your feathers.

What teathers you to the Earth, for I fear we’re all letters.

But be that as it may, the stars can reach you, for they have longed arms only to beseech you.

On my quest through poetry, I give a roundhouse my reply. I say, I’ll kick it with you, if your lips aren’t even dry.

But be that as it may, say, have I seen you before, somewhere pleasant, somewhere for?

Realizing the count down is backwards is like finding out the…

Dear Anteater,

Would you stop eating all those ants, they are just ants!

I practice speaking out of character:

Spoiler alert!

I’m no critic, I’m hardly a cynic. I care for cyllindrical things and lampshades.

Where no wolves go, is the place where I’ll go. ‘They say follow the footprint low, and await the runaway.

It was truly beautiful; Earth had collided with a falling angel. No one knew why it was placed this way. Maybe to interupt the fashion dialouge of a caretaker stray. Play with me now:

It was aesthetically pleasing, rocks fell on the rocks. Everyone thought they put it in place. Maybe to interupt the fashion dialouge of a caretaker stray. Keep on!

I will now reveal a secret about winning the lottery!

it’s tough

I think I should try to focus, as not to locus the impurities I adore. J’adore.

A map is a contour

A star is an end

A black hole is something else

Where have we happened to bend!

Lend me your eyes! tie in the rising tide! Confide in a map, and try to peel that False hood out of bed.

Tread lightly on speculations. for the spectacle.

Exclamation points for 145 pages starting now.

Finally a dj that knows what I like

Finally a jd that i can take

Finally a fantasy

Finally a love sorry

Finally a fifth entity

Finally I’ve remotely battled a ship that would cease to seize up manufactured goods at a salsbury price

Finally the cloud’s got angry

Dices don’t go up to seven

its rhetoric

its bliss

its ignorance

its beneficial

its detrimental

its insane

its inhuman

its protege is turning upside down

the humble never yell

Anyway

Anyway

I’d like you to fill in the blanks…

119 to go

Prince Robin Hood,

Would you return to California for make up.

Okay, this guy and i were sailing on a yacht, when we decided to pick up morse signals on a transister radio. no one was expecting it so we were able to hear the dolances, cadences and cliff note offenses. we were submitting our memory to stimuli.

It’s a simple procedure, they shock you.

Hi, this is my essay on

Transcendental Didactic Dialect and it’s Recursive Dichotomy of Sanctuary and Syllabus.

Many don’t think didactication is a word. it’s recursive dichotomy of sanctuary and syllabus.

"worst quote ever" : "actions speak louder than words."

do you see what people get away with?

do you know how to bridge the gap between moby and techno?

do you paint with all the colours of the wind?

you can’t own the earth until!

I envision a large estimate of subculture gone awry for the lack of deposition and dilligence.

I dream of a fruitopia

My reality is relative to others’ reality.

I subject myself to theirs, creating no objection usually, unless it is “pro”jected.

Then I jettison the goods like a really overweight gentleman.

Figuratively speaking I am one.

But this does not deny the fact that I am biassed to bias, and try to try, and harassed to harass, and figure things out.

my inventory is replete, my headphones are stuck on repeat, and im meet for mead with any swine fellow who’d like to look at defeat.

Glory,

The compassion, the betrayal, the sardony, the farthing line, the cast of

Will and Grace

I’m just Debra Messing with you, I actually can pay attention.

…or pave retention, or wave indecently.

Aristotle was a lumberjack

Plato was a triangle

Socrates was intolerable

And peter pan jumped over the candle.

I’m so nomadic, I turn styles like coats on display.

Whether THIS is right or wrong, we’re all asking the same question.

and it goes a little something like this…

What is a quasar?

it’s funny, i never really thought about enigmas until it was jammed down my throat as passivity.

its funny, i never really thought about parrots until they jammed their chin in my treblecliff

its funny, people has stars in it

its not funny, because that is not right!

is THIS a quazar?

anyway, id like to let you know, vulcanize my tires, and i’ll retire.

yo, this is the best way to get someone up

oy, this is not the worst end to forget you down.

I’ve only been writing for about an hour now, he said softly, speaking into his soul. and he was about.:.

The grace of a thousand whiskers.

The tenacity of a tendency.

The revelry of revelation.

And the putrification of petrify

The audacity of England

The stench of a skunk,

The tablet of a doctor,

and the feeling’s run amok

The audacity of a minature model factory

For children to read good,

and be good at other stuff too, good.

Every night he wandered aloof

In the Reciprocity of Relish

The err finds its way

into the end of a sentence

and like sci/fi just day

Strangled past the point of inferiority

by a femininity known as a panther

A type of dance just to shatter,

The glass you saw my through, faster.

A glitch and an alibi,

Sought precedence,

Ali baba was hiding

in a technologic briefcase.

Casing the rhythm for melody…

Chasing the chasm for bridges

Tracing the steps through the symphony

As the slither out of the sides of correct technique

Slop.

One De-sigh-or

Scene:

A movie set. Five stars. Pop-corn, overpriced, celebration.

Weak at the knee, hunger in the tooth, i third vermouth.

so, someone got change for a $1000 bill

This is the wildest adventure you’ve ever been on.

Girls, grills, gills

I swam till i couldn’t sea the shore, in the sands of our lies.

Running thin, on empty, and I shift my head just to realize.

I wonder how long it will take for my posture to collaborate.

If there were an easier way to say I told you so, I wouldn’t.

but i melt around the edges and evaporate in turn.

And yearn for a yeilding, that doesn’t even earn.

Sporadic spirally spells of sepsis, if thats well,

correct then i was guessing, and i thought it too as wells.

This is the dawning.

The

Dawning.

Posted 1 year ago

"spend some dough at table three!" »

a rare artifact known as bookin it.

Posted 1 year ago

one of hundreds of lyricisions.

never, always, sometimes, sure. x3

is it elastic… bands which keep me rapping?

fans in tandem with never that keep me yapping, trapping, twisting, listing, pure. thoughts which rebound on such allure. or in this state, fraught?

drought demur, i can’t be lost. what creates the boundaries for our mundane world?

is it always this way, sometimes i can concur but though contradict and control lore. what wit has to do with it aches in the cortex, not too sure

though,

so i make. strides to arrive/ when the tying trolls an and that just has to roll, was it planned? a plateau that makes for tired souls and focus follows so i’ll make the next few golden gilded. i lifted an instrument, bored into the mountainous monument to songs that are stricken from the record!,

can i say it moved me at least daccord daccord, in accord with the bylines beats resting easy in silent sheets. white snow on the streets

so what moves feet, now featured, in a league or two of melted water

scattered first then drained like a teacher. note well i can’t control these spells i cast well i just borrow from the well that can be an addendum, like nintendo with super prefix or powers to uplift.

now that gravities gotten in, whats holding us down. i realize its a perfect world when i hear the right sound. din din dimmer, at a simmer with the alter, faltering to proctor this unstarved artist any farther.

i caught her eyeing the words, now this i am told

is whats not supposed to happen without the help of chords. but we all can think right? i hope we can all think right

Posted 1 year ago

these pieces were taxed under “wackchainwriting”

when you finally catch what

you been thinking backwards about youll see the pattern how you farfetched the freedom

As I stood on the porch it occurred to me how challenged I was for words. For something only the word robust check phonetically can tolerate had perched its own tolerance on the fencing in front of me and heard. It came to order magnifique with fjords and fissures under its belt and a penchant for pronounced plummage. One that must plummet! from the summits of city buildings only when it was coaxed not to function. Ceilings brittle and young yet. He took his wing and threw a bolt of lightning into the hopes that it wouldn’t use its feet and came at me like a jet.

"Take off your hat"

Sorry Mrs. Hawking

in simplicity i wander like a child, too complex for the cows to come home. the scenery blends in with me like a bus-bust going for broke.

the soap i used totes, but I virtually know no one.

now you should know, that if you’re reading this, there are certain words that just stick out, like hollograms. take a piece of me…

if there were an essay on it, it’d be titled: Those Who Know Me Know. I can act like I read it. hey, again, but really its just the dice. on a different starbust candy tranquility spin i realize i am only what i make of myself, call this the denoument.

there is no cafe,

there are no more intruder sundial batteries

i wish i could say something was true

The planet known as Folksong can be a long ways a way. Tourists range from rare owl watchers, music afficianadoes and - mostly - independent artists who wait for transit, hitchhike or save up their money for low class vessels in search of a gig or two. You see: Folksong’s varying governence funds many artists as a way to import technologies that keep up appearances in the other sectors. With more than two thirds of its 11 billion inhabitants, artists - it is known that in this galaxy, the best music is from Folksong.

Ever since the Stradivarians invaded in 1867, and situated their population of 3 million the people of Folksong’s cheif export has been audio files. Having no computers at the time they recorded the music in many different formats and stored them in temples erected almost immediately after the subordination. Nice, insulated temples. Before 1867 it is hard to find any music data from Folksong, though the Stradavarians prolific style of ballad was almost instantly blown up into a complex diversity of song in the late 1800s. As it is said in prose many times over, the surviving members of Folksong probably became instruments themselves.

Books authored by conspiracists, theorists, intergalactic historians and radio djs with too many samples, comment on the fall of cities, loss of state demarcation

Grafiti on an AS

The planet known as Folksong can be a long ways a way. Tourists range from rare owl watchers to music afficianadoes and mostly turn up as independent artists who wait for transit, hitchhike or save up their money for low class vessels in search of a gig or two. You see: Folksong’s varying governence funds many artists as a way to import technologies that keep up appearances in the other sectors. With more than two thirds - of its 11 billion inhabitants - artists, it is known: that in this galaxy: the best music is from Folksong.

Ever since the Stradivarians invaded in 1867, and situated their population of 3 million the people of Folksong’s cheif export has been audio files. Neither races having any musical interest or ability at the time, it is odd to think that in the few months of situation, instruments and inspiration became widely available and almost immediately were put to commercial use. Having no computers at the time they recorded the music in many different formats and stored them in temples erected almost immediately after the subordination. Nice, insulated temples. As it is said in prose many times over, it is quite possible that the whole historic liberty taken by a scholars, was that Folksong ordered 3 million classical instruments to keep up appearances. With no such race as the Stradavarians having existed. Having afforded such a liaison - one that outweighed the rest - Folksong earned its reputation, quite like those scholars.

the take on it is submersed

two strands.

one jettisoning goods but restocking just as easily

the other an emerging world

a jam band emcee feesibly makes the two first

over and over,

now a piano sounds.

the take on it is submersed

two strands.

one jettisoning goods but restocking just as easily

the other an emerging world

a jam band emcee feesibly makes the two first

over and over,

now a piano sounds.

“Where to start? emits what was locked inside someone but arts are like parts of us collaborated constantly tart specimens of specialization in small muscle tissues.” a loud gaffaw is heard. “Trust me, risk you, before I lose you to my fancy take a dance with the chance you might also be lost. Ransom. Balsamic vingerette on the green petals, that were raised that way. I say, is it not right for a ripe melon to contaminate a hole in your body

its all about arches,

attention deficit

Posted 1 year ago

nf book i’m working on, prospectors?

S

ense and Nonsense\

Sense is something we deal with, nonsense is something we negligently try not to for our own sake. Can you really call someone insane? Rorschach.

Paintings always provide nonsense, because perfection isn’t even real. But do we gap the bridge, making reparations with the likeness?

Now, it’s no surprise cymbals awake the senses.

Symbols are studied and then catalouged in a commulative database. When someone hasn’t heard a melody do sometimes they know how it goes? Cross-referencing from popular culture? What amneties are there to offer to whats ill-reputed as nonsense? Any form of movement is discernable both to witness and to catalouge, and everything is moving.

So

This makes sense if you agree that everything is making sense. If it weren’t you wouldn’t know of it.

Denial

Sometimes I have thought that a part of a human knows mechanisms - in a laymens metaphor circadian rhythms. That maybe we always know what time it is. That we know what the dice roll will yield. Maybe we always know the answer to a multiplication problem. That we really know when someone is lying.

What the brain makes sense of just by commissions is hidden prior to understanding, allowing us to alter reality in able to experience it. This is where rendition becomes interpretation and sense is made. Interpretation should be seen as a process over time.

Numbness

Programmed to be unaware of these answers, leaves us to be fashioned by external forces, which is perhaps the only thing keeping us conscious. Like a surgery that is taking place the time of day unmonitored will confess its wishes to the individual when they have just regained track of time.

It is the reason why we sometimes hear our alarm clock cohering within our fading dreams.

A nonsensical statement’s diction will attract different recognizances. As the malaise of alien sensitivity subsumes your consciousness, different thoughts come to mind. All sensitivity is alien though, everything is interpretation.

Luck

Luck is made by the brain for the brain, strictly associated with expectation. Luck is just another neurotransmitter that takes any given length to reach its destination w. The path taken by its representatives enforce either self righteousness, or self wrongness when one has made a prediction. This venn diagram-dichotomy of right and wrong to the self must be ambiguous since its host is unknown; although its receptor intuits a little and unearths some of the numbness. With the repeated exposure to words and nuances of an authority, the more meaning and value will be added upon it.

Being Aware

After enough self righteous action, the part of the brain implicated to make a certain choice will produce more valuable outcomes. This immediately precedes and parallels repetitious action. The two go hand in hand. The former being committal and the latter being promiscuous. Then again the former’s shadow is always cast on repetitious action, entailing a little commitment all around.

Commitment

Being committed to one source

I’d wish to remain anonymous, but that’s not humanely possible in summation as well.

monster M*A*S*H*

you heard it here folks.

Posted 1 year ago

salvage all ballasts, bastion to the dance, grandeur of connoisseurs, words to spurn sporadic temperament.

Posted 1 year ago

there must be a way to make a generator out of a windmill that also acts with gravity to increase the amount of force collected.

like you know those machines that constantly move, what if one was driven by wind too? wait, everything is a windmill. lyl

Posted 1 year ago

saidness

I’m a poet, I take pages.

And crump on the podium of precedence.

Drunk all the time on love,

Seeing straight through the steel bars.

meadow

eyeglasses

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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stockpiled insufferable malaise mayonnaise outfitter. a title I once hold in good standing, though my new one unabashed regulator suspicion hunter is more to my liking, though I might've liked it If I suddenly went backwards.

a sir lancelot

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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the dragon table they called it.

a lamp upon.

no doubt one was talking

when another fell out.

strange enough it was platonic.

like the board.

gypsies, gypsies, unicorns.

two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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In retrospect I noticed nothing but hands on the clock. The, or what used to be the five, was now a somnolent elevated fracture of a fault line. I mean it could have been a three, no, that would have made it more of what is was and/or trying to be.

As I closed my eyes again I tried quite hard to remember the time, it seemed that it's only requisite feature was that it wasn't really moving.

I take it for granted that it doesn't remember me. Though it had several dislocated minute particles, which reinforced the irregularities, which lead me to believe, that in fact it may have been me, that was indirectly surfacing an extraneous amount of attention towards it's fortunate twice removed indecision, stretching.

A Person eating a croissant in D minor

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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"Delish." Bryant said. "Just, delish. Milkman, brush my gums with 3 ounces."

"Only if you say so."

Spring Paint

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM

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Snail bold entangle

Servicing built mold mallet

weaving a next hour.

Sail build nautical

Surviving billed miled mollusk

Welding a next hour.

Bale full of caskets

Bringing fledged files wild

Dying, dying durst,

Fraying those flasks'

Tailors on a ship fledged

Dyng, drying reign.

Bleakly abiding

Rain. providing provisions

The darkness cold as,

Faint, drying, nice! Spiced

Emergent flame slain vice

Breaking fees feed fleet

"To society"

Captain called slower cranks.

"We'll" Wheel "we're" well well.

It was an Ideal.

text space

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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Start, I did, once, at lost.

I found a lot.

Out of gaze.

Listening to paradise.

Mastering the flow.

Of where is lost.

Vice.

Is my spice of life?

trite communique

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:35 PM

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Although youth can be fleeting in an impartial clause to retreat, meeting of such distinct distinction can often suffer meet. Alas, in order to become a due, must defend where and when without a reason to offend. By what starry matter do we rise and fall to be patient enough to seek refuge in death? or do we pretend?

Perhaps night shades the intolerable, and the sun soaks the valuable, and the twilight speaks to mollify the all able in creationism on the fly. With such summits of surpass!

The predestined, find ways to allay. The tolerability holds buoyantly, and lastly the changing is dope, so I cut in line at the refreshment table holding a nine with a peace sign. Perfectly constructing a change in demeanor as expressed, presses the certain issue, and the rain must fall as well, plus the moving of the heavens, including but not to mention.

one

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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I was sitting in the middle of an NRA meeting, again. Fran was trying to have a smoke. The biggest gun we got to talk about today was a new Mississippi brand sawed off mod of a single-barrel revolver.

She says, "Pronto, let me have this right now!" To which everyone just wants her to hold the thing.

Some guy at the back opens a tin can and tries to make it louder than it was. Fran doesn't like that, is what I'm thinking. She gently takes the Mississippi loose weight, spins it around, some new guy from, well probably Mississippi walks in and I make myself scarce. Finally, she drops it and I get to hold the thing

empty beaches track number two - midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 5:45 PM

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tied to nothing, it seems nothing's ever right sometimes at this nothing's ever right. nothing scrubbed off the side of the chosen sojourn of those that fly a kite - at anytime, just makes it stay still a little longer for the clouds to present a quilt to hide, lay under up themselves, over and in the middle the air contours and defines what wouldn't happen to you before it draws the line... and dare, you leave, but nothing's going nowhere for a good while, another mile or two and your set for the ever-yet most majestic set of shore and wet sand that landed you here, panoramic constant view, you can hear you think.. was this even the plan, as you reneg against the wind and head for the pier. the land grows lost, this mist seems coughed, might lights lining the mighty road where shining seems cropped, the one's: out there... possibly caught up in fanfair or some kind of well-wrought self-same desire or a plan of fire... mine's defined divine cost cast fosters water outta thin air. and that's it. while miniscule antiquities givin guff and energy to tough waves, crash. its all this world coming in and breaking what I got, I fill my gull wings up but it seems I've gotta lot and naughts and nots and knots away the privy, hold delay but I can't wait for this air its time I set it straight, set aside, abide, betray align and convey to the point of clutching that rock outside the bay. alright, I'll rake like Velcro, cast silhouttes like shelltoes pose imperfect like van gogh though awkward walk away for heck knows, trim the glass sensitivity with a hook for a hand, till it scratches the surface of a land walked by land, captured, unabashed synapse-structure some guy named Javier's, longlived momentuous embrace caressed by stasis places post puncture the same as ever was best in show these caltrops of mood fun ring-types holding points together the picture (et cetera therein)

you wouldn't even know

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:40 PM

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She tried a stint in movies, but that didn’t last very long because her desire for attention irritated the director and he couldn’t work with her any more. Now she is spending some time at Mr. Boddy’s mansion, hoping to work her way into his money.

“Well I’ll tell you what, it wasn’t Mr. Boddy who did this… or maybe it was!” Lightning crashes, the lights go out.

“Why are we playing games, Miss Peacock!” “Shuttle-cock!”

“Well I’ll tell you what, it has to be one of us, we are the only people in this mansion and if it weren’t for Mr. John Green’s scatter brained naivety, he wouldn’t have taken his own life into his hands and married me, Miss Scarlet.”

“Scarletia, darling, where are my glasses, let me see the real you.” Lightning crashes, and in the instantaneous heat John glances at Miss Scarlet and sees the murderer in the reflection of her eyes. The lights come back on, John continues. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you darling, where are my glasses?”

“Okay let’s wrap this up, it was Mrs. Peacock.”

Journal Entries in Blood Part two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:25 PM

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it seems rainbows and militant atheist Richard dawkins' unweaving process of the former seem to be subjugating old news to old news. This is a book I have read. could there be more than 7 colours? I don't think indigo has been shed, though. Looking at alive snow in a hymn to tourach nightly gall'ant yesterday I saw the moon's ring'ed corona for lack of what to call it... in the spirit of this I even thought to think, which I brought no pen yet this ink into the formation of the idea that the moon is a time lapse of something we're so vertigonally dizzy from plus yet!

Anyway could everything we see through our aqueous humour be rainbow spectacular? integrated only through that concept, whereas the liquid crystal display which transforms color from the primaries to the integral to fruit in synchronized fashion like flowering pixel?

Then it seemed endearing to think of colour.

And my eyes couldn't absorb the notion that colour is something we do without, or in abundance/profession in areas of the land non-populated. And fire and wild equatorial forests south of a couple borders where all there is is water, sun, and I'm not sure.

No I'm not sure.

boot with a problem

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:05 PM

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in the wake, of a rollerskate, as a blade, thy blossom's must fate.

Take a walk on ice if both were slated, for a mate cross bearings' date, wherein the road melts into some sort of symbolic roll of dice.

Might I gather from this intention of inertia, that the worst way to close yaw, is to add to to too little cross two and add two in the far.

Demoting far to the solicitude of direction that is, where in textbook sequence it is wrong, the first taught egotism of a boot with a problem.

Twelve

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:05 PM

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Twelve, noon.

The scene was electric, like lilies being turned on.

John didn't want to give away any of his smokes, anyway.

the unlimited premonitions of a license to feel simply isn't rhythmic

its symbolic though mainly systolic diastolic when you don't really feel, something's still turning the wheel. and what’s yielded is

Books authored by conspiracists, theorists, intergalactic historians and radio djs with too many samples, comment on the fall of cities, loss of state demarcation

With much reluctance I return to the act of writing.

I fear instruction will intrude upon my production.

What is and what isn't. Now just take in the isn't.

Try to drink these words, drink them, drink the words.

There can't be anymore insane doctrines motivating artificiality,

because without sanity there is no motivation for reality.

If you walked towards a house, with a bag, full of candy, and

asked for more candy, what would you get?

Trick or Treat,

The candle ins\\mide the orange hollow cooked the sinews.

The kids dressed as pirates and ghosts, goblins in droves,

Came to ask for candy.

"Trick or treat?"

See that pumpkin, inside burns a fire so bright, it cooks it's home.

The seeds drip from the sides trying to extinguish the flame!

Sleep when the candle burns out, but children, don't play with fire.

For it's only desire, is to burn up it's cage.

Yes we can see through the eyes of Jack, and look through his grin,

but that pumpkin gets cooked by the candle that hates it, cuz no one

Can see what they've doomed.

We cut that thing open and stick fire in it, give it a face and place it

to scare kids away, Why ask me again, I'll trick you real good.

"Get out of here."

Thanksgiving,

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

Trick or Treat (Director's Cut)

"Trick or treat."

"What do you want, this apple, or this soda?"

"Soda please."

"That will rot your teeth."

"We want people to see the fire inside."

"What will you do when the fire goes out?"

"Sleep."

"I think I see trouble."

"Run, take this soda, drink it, show people the fire inside"

"Oh it's Jack, he's back."

Jack stopped his nightmare, front hooves to the air.

The moon smiled. Jack looked at the moon, which reasoned with Jack.

A year later, the kids showed up toothless, now what would they drink!?

Jack alighted walked over to the house muttering to himself. He pulled off his head and placed it beside the other jack-o-lantern and his body vanished, clothing fell to the ground!

Now these flames, together, this moon reflecting the fire that burns inside of them.

Next Hallowe'en the pumpkins weren't carved, but stayed in the patch, and whoever does cut them, will ride a nightmare through the streets.

Blockade

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 10:45 PM

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Out into snow, the variable, the rarity slow... I don't recall... Though this map has ever flourished inside my inner workings let me see can this be European never mind it's too kind I see

Orange crabgrass goner made his way into town

and not a grind not a petal not a suitor did frown.

chalk

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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broken openly, wroten wrought priority dimension all a bliss terribly, berating token snaps at tobacco flak and focal point pointsetta free. flame a priori done one d

sleep walk track 11 the midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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I see it farther off, a dazzling fade cone, it presents itself well. Enough to make myself elf, yet im in and out on the spot, I can take you dazzling fade cone, even if you’re warmer and I’m not,

what does one of these dazzling fade cones have to do with right here? Ask the cone I tell myself, well here’s what it cheered stir and said quite clear

Dazzle dazzle, bright bright, black as a piece of broken filament, without a noticer and I’m out of spite, you dazzle too, I’ll somehow notice us not and maybe we could switch spots if you’ve got time to.

Oh dazzle cone, fading in and out of dazzle and shine I guess, if there were ever any reason for me to drink the hyde tonic, id sleep and that’s all but me, im off to the next dazzling fade cone peace.

Now Im in an uproar of sentiments from the news and whats being grown at the edge of this, while hedges reign at wreckless once about as I was somehow walking that is so so calm as calming water is

Walking thinking that and this about the pantry which I come across with its noisy doors

You’re not a Dazzle bright cone, what makes you so sturdy and angry at the floors

Well im open to mostly anything

You’re not a dazzling fade cone, im outta here

X2 “what have power chairs thrown”

Drifting span tips through grass and moisture like an abyss of lie down mist pasteurized like whisper-vapour switched blades fresh still on some so so parade, though I know im really about a mile away, dazzling fade cone, what sort of hunt is that! the inspiration leads like a trombone scale

You’re not a dazzling light cone, hack

In a city of art illumined by those, and artistry as shows, no light or dazzle enter lest it owner be prone.

I will walk these halls of street encompassed in strap and sheet, so those who fail home can see me shown sleep.

A bone to pick with a kitchen and a key to the memory illuminated I mean by the light and not by the tree.

A fig would figure place about and above the beach, what power chairs have thrown are those of heightened sensitivities, and yes we do have feet,

Branching out to seek, and all relativity all weak and reep.

You’re not a dazzling light cone x5

climate

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:00 PM

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Beautiful, like sand

Delivered in brand,

trope

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:55 PM

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To no one's inclination I shall undo the workings of my serious alter ego. That is all. No on second thought I'd like to ungainly reduce my inclination to the workings of my serious ego. That is not all. My serious as I've began to call it, is not really much of a good title for what that ego permits, instead, it is more of a fallacy of intercourse between the undoing and the doing, much like a half-knot. The strands are somehow vivaciously unstringable into certain whiplashes, doing mostly, yet undoing. This comes from the amount thereof. Now the only circumspection I can come across is the unwillingness of all of them to undo, needless to say... vivacious! Where I come into workings of them I began seriously, but don't recall the tearing bipartisan sustenance which gains on the level or point-tropic that has me subdued by reverse engineering, though this could be my view. The only thing stopping me from actually performing this activity, is everything here I mention to you.

valurous yarn

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:50 PM

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I met her in a coffee shop, our coffee shop. She had heels and a dress, I had a longsleeved shirt and a raincoat. She stepped up to the counter in dots and asked the counter for her address.

I said, “you’re not a telephone operator are you?”

She said, “Pleased to meet you.”

She may have been a little too persuasive but I was beaming on the inside.

She said, “Why don’t you take off your coat.”

I said, “oh I’m on my way.”

I recall that that was my coffee shop once.

Winter's Breath track 5 the midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:40 PM

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Winters breath

Come on and follow, bereft, in other now: adept, as while snow light crept, the your basic loco motive step, into step, into step, and got away with what’s left, sweet, I can almost hear my feet before they echo into my ears, sheesh, what a blast, and more than the last, what fell to smash into pieces to succumb to reaching my lead, defeat… featured in an eggshell pattern, comprised of witchcraft and made into a lull with what you have it… I tear apart a three of hearts. I in all in all lay down my cards, no draws, drawn away into step and I say, windy, low, howlin, wailin crawlin down pale and all windy assailing, with which left with “come on and follow”, so as now intrepid movements I eschew. Four hearts find eachother and I’m exact sense like move. More than one could guess, to look now seems out of breath, but I know I can catch up like the lining of a vest, addressed.

Empirical Rationalism

Posted  by barrett on November 5, 2013 at 6:25 PM

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Rocket Science

In a dwelling with only windows a man lives violent as a clock. The fear of alignment eventually departs... at first easy then quite ease. His only wish a metronome.

The Coffee Spiller

Posted  by barrett on November 5, 2013 at 6:10 PM

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"Look at him over there, unaware and aloof." Sherry said.

"I know, he's probably going to buy something cheap." Larry said, coughing up the money for a newpaper. "his name isWaldo probably."

Waldo walked toward the back of the store with a jingle.

"Like someone out of a book."

"Or short story."

He came back with a hold of coffee, looked at Sherry and Larry while spilling some and moved to the counter.

Larry put the newspaper on the counter. "You're spilling coffee."

"It isn't news to me." said Waldo.

its like finding a book, in a book

Posted  by barrett on October 28, 2013 at 7:50 PM

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She said "Besides these seeds," paused, then we, said "A walk deepens Earth" together "we may have a knack for out curse," I said "out of context" then we said be of course. she asked me "Trying to calculate a normal?" I said \I thought \I was trying to create a normal.

It was dark, black beads of sweat electrically parallel to our eyes she said, "Let me see" birds sounded "Sing me to sleep at night" she said "Don't play." I said chess isn't it the matter at hand. Can't quite recall.

Make me alive.

"that's the spirit, back to exhile." she wondered,

I said "Walking up and down searching for a fire.

Where the moon smiled in descent to mars for it, signifying an ellipse, so truncated and perfectly in disarray, that it could say it got the point. Burning wax and wane like a flame. Burning a stain in my cavity concave convex just to follow suit. Addressing the natural idea of why wind howls at it from it's basement.

"Sneaking glances at?" in desperation for another moment with it, follow me like I was following the hue, as maybe a monolith cries out & reaches distinction. "Sneaking a glass shelf so rotund it abdicated an aberration so a cantaloupe can become some sort of syringe or surrogate, parasitically invigorating a lunar eclipse it would make a blue moon think, at about exactly midnight for ever evading some sort of elevation until it hits me for just looking up, in every waking hour like a strategy somewhat covalent and conveniently constitutional comingling and collecting my skin just to save hours, whence relocating became pigment just to organize some sort of specious reason to feel low, at home at the stroke of winter and spring, while miles away I and who I am not walk west for east to beg a clause to pull me out like a flag which may or may not sit there, knotted by some sort of movemeant, basically the logistics between geostationary and geosynchronous orbits.

"Eclipse to me, I watched the Sun die out."

"That's what the moon said to me!" "as I gazed into eternity. "sheesh, darkness is darkness, and black is black,: Read deeper shallow pirate. x2

"I don't know where the title went."

"so lost ipso factum"

"Watch out fracture..."

"Gallon of?"

"Tongue depressor."

"for both of us?"

"no."

"Is that a satellite?"

"No."

"Is that?"

"A satellite?"

"Heavy?"

"Really."

The moon was 2:45

"You know the sun rises soon."

"Why I never would have known."

"Did you hear the piano, I hear he was talking about you."

"I'll be there."

what is the universe? volume 1

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 8:25 PM

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The inefficiency of text has never been so reliant. Presuppose a notion roots into this labor above some paper. How often does it come out the same. It goes to say that the production of transmission of these aforementioned proximities hold one in the same, though motioned by an alternator.

As feelings may be more cumbersome, it might be wise to think of the transfer as something that happens in an overlap, as it is to see in cascades in some new starts and fresh excerpts while still in production or closer to a final product. A midway can allow transgression, but something on delivery can be underwhelming. It goes without saying that a lot gets caught up and insofar as it is dealt with.

Does this happen to thoughts?

is composition plural

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:20 PM

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Which has begun to occur queried an odd fellow with a woodwind? To the matter, undescribed in a cellist at heart whence it came to ordinary, ordinance within a medley of composure, though mostly composition and furthermore, as such, notwithstanding, as aforementioned, as a hunch as follows: composition. Harps do not understand math.

As an instrument, strung, last, so , that that can divine arrows as tolerant as craft, some men, in sum, all, all beome strung, while interpreters become undone. Notably in the various iconography of passage, no suitable equivalent becomes prevalent among tranced and/or trampled upon magical movements like one.

Platonic Individend

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:15 PM

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Fracture in descent of a fraction chisel

Destined to foray, where? missing Earth

Gamut recon, a third, a forth, a fifth.

I am not about to go there yet.

Risking a life, livid as lace.

Lost in a realm of sought earn pace

Tore through a flush of never stain

Proud from the way I made this taste.

And I can see them now, they're space.

Cycling fond of the place, I state.

Never reminded of a time they were.

But that's not today. Tomorrow don't.

Feel the same, I know you can stay.

Because when this hammer sates

I just don't feel this whey.

It's not impossible, I know you just.

Don't feel the same

Caligraphy

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:10 PM

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Curser caused interrupt ;inside a moment of the action.

Slow drops out to about right with route written calligraphy Realizing in triplacte: page pending profession, nothing but period in use.

Eerie dots, choked virus thunder. Blissful realm of yet to be manifestation of dreams and file : 'Screen from this stop sign. Leeking letter virus, blazing probabilities seeking down like life from left to ceftre

ALL I grap fin

ALL I grap fin.

the lack

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM

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The lack of a committed surface. as oppose, to facet.

Is it an image, or a force to dispose of what adheres.

Is an intimidation stretched, through a retching, culminating,

in what is nears, coheres as

impositions of all dispensed

delve in sinc, and out until, every nettle, every weed, every word & everywhere is in an doubt?

one one

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM

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Heredity is an important fate,

For whose crux holds thy gate.

In evening, prim and late,

Hollowed out for a fiend to grow,

Lest this hair bestow: an evening rose,

Enchant doth fall on her fairy sole.

And don't, doth trot betroth and Glow,

To bloom at once, fall oh.

Invent ive end

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:55 PM

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Preperatory: Tell me dissonance fury.

Fresupposition within one's glory.

Pour these Herculean Terrestrians.

Practically painting a blind man's story

Contour Reciprocal for four foreign force More Smore's Flora Fjords cure sure pores, as roars to lightning.

Invent ive end

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:55 PM

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Preperatory: Tell me dissonance fury.

Fresupposition within one's glory.

Pour these Herculean Terrestrians.

Practically painting a blind man's story

Contour Reciprocal for four foreign force More Smore's Flora Fjords cure sure pores, as roars to lightning.

a few trees

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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Cold and clear (something crisp) like an ambulance's ransom.

Ran some Together in the gathered in the mist we. In the forest, yet.

We intangibly had widows in fronna out of in void for now, in hours. four windows saw some:

Spiders wearing "horse shoes", a' circus of The Path Untrodden to

Down before I get up I never had a chance.

The contours of an allegory in mend, in story. Strong and resembling history close, but no solid curtain, just the one all around that lifts backwards and fits... everywhere, close.

something sacred

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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knife down on a table... a pack of hunters,

iron cage right beside it... enough of a treasure

forget the trade... "I'll see us later"

a reason to rifle door close, a mountain without a trickle of spiteful

the first one to let us off the chain... howl

Names like Barbara under camero thighs

Dames patch farvora manning levers quiet

Fame stuck tamare cans be viral eyes.

yellow orange blue blank close cap cap chirp bless your

forever hasn't mentioned anyone yet let's get this shielding shed on ryes

If I haven't forgotten I came to get through.

No feeling as certain as a way to just get through.

diagonal type on paper, blue

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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Lost

also, "well adapted", well intact.: this fact is, "fact is" fake if like an elastic not stretched but fact is not coiled to make another, and an umbrella could open so sibly & \yes I said sibly silly listen its really a ruler I used, to will me, as these words rehearse and find me a way to rather around on an in and out of a town-o-town clown frown unsound fest test touch down wearing eve gown sense - slide where with those as these least three sheets, I say say I say say I exactly say draped only by rhythmic page of this even ever scape, draped feebly shaped antiicollapse protracted umbrella named brella so sibly Umbrella now it's with a wallet sleep watch watch which one watched the lost 8 or 7 get treated like a loss to me, check my shoes 'till they're loose, go through nurse-imbued go-throughs ' till I hit port and remember my order Mordor Door Dorothy Alice sharps like from the grip of a gryphon holding his baby entar all penguins and that ain't to either of those magical places.

lost in treasure

lost in line

in line I here that spine

dwindling in measurements

like the loss when I found mine

livery in art.

diagonal type on paper, blue

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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Lost

also, "well adapted", well intact.: this fact is, "fact is" fake if like an elastic not stretched but fact is not coiled to make another, and an umbrella could open so sibly & \yes I said sibly silly listen its really a ruler I used, to will me, as these words rehearse and find me a way to rather around on an in and out of a town-o-town clown frown unsound fest test touch down wearing eve gown sense - slide where with those as these least three sheets, I say say I say say I exactly say draped only by rhythmic page of this even ever scape, draped feebly shaped antiicollapse protracted umbrella named brella so sibly Umbrella now it's with a wallet sleep watch watch which one watched the lost 8 or 7 get treated like a loss to me, check my shoes 'till they're loose, go through nurse-imbued go-throughs ' till I hit port and remember my order Mordor Door Dorothy Alice sharps like from the grip of a gryphon holding his baby entar all penguins and that ain't to either of those magical places.

lost in treasure

lost in line

in line I here that spine

dwindling in measurements

like the loss when I found mine

livery in art.

scratches

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 6:00 PM

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broken up like thick chalk along the bottom of the wall was some "hey spray - chalk repellant", this might add a fix-note to that awoken.

token of a day by day fainted spake, worsten hearsed reversed thick cloud of milk on the bottom of a cup pay stub.

arriving privy, pretty class, pretty crass, decided id crash beside a lash, full form contort and out of order since I heard the report, mam may I say I can I reorder, the issue, "miss you" got it handed and half went out like bandit

caress capress, liquidity, foundation and such, plus touch, rupt' fuss, no no cuss

the importance of time

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 5:45 PM

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Rampant, spreading through a forest... a fire!

Leeches crying, plains,on fire nearby!

A helicopter breezes through a thick full of smog, and cuts up a cedar,

a dead leaf curls into autumn.

five star commodities

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 5:25 PM

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Gripped figure: you sit there

Ripped briefer: now list where

This train was running.

etc.

one:

Almost evident, in a fragile

Moment,

Never lasting past a

Hard greeting

In sequence with, and

even without spoken

Not much more than

Something fleeting.

two:

Waiting, a piece of life

wait,

a theme inside

a broken lead

depth as often red

a sheath of coursing

waiting fled.

three:

a natural drawing, seriously,

with a novice at drawing,

drawn to beam down

round at that 'in,

drowned influence,

through 'in' ruins, doing

nothing but, thick and - sound

at that but found in

flat, now based in fact

where non-forever now

lives as tact. attracted to

(tract to try) a tract attack and.... plough

  ...Spin with tick down talking cloud.

four:

To name a poor flower

Endowed with stains

That leek in pain

And don't shoot off or over

Or sink in a convenient fashion

or gain!

A flower with stains, and flowing

How these wisps sustain,

Wilt or forever hold the flower.

(Arise and wake.)

But still it is offered, and off-red is how it is met.

five:

The day may grey on Earth

But the Sun will burn out before that very day

It let's down that grey,

I feela cylinder scrape on page one,

And the rest can only simply say..

[swearronchanel]

I rewatched 5.09 aka The 2016 Christmas Special

I officially have done nothing productive all day. I did finish rewatching The Nanny though if that counts 😂😂 I forgot how much it made me laugh. Anyway I’m randomly in the mood to watch the 2016 Christmas special so why not post? Btw this will be long af  this IS incredibly long but I just had so many thoughts ya’ know?

Ah I’m excited again, this was such a great special don’t @ me

The Turners! ANGELA’S LITTLE NURSE UNIFORM 😭💕 SO PRECIOUS

SHELAGH LOOKING LIKE A BABE😍

TRIXIE looking a babe 😍 she assisted in the cesarean.. later she’ll do it herself ahh

I want to have Christmas dinner at Nonnatus aww

“To absent friends"💔 my freaking heart breaks, sister MJ’s face! ugh she misses sister Evangelina. But don’t we all?

More cute Angela not talking as usual (still waiting for a word)

I want Trixie’s Christmas outfit, I want all her clothes though 😍

WE OUT TO SOUTH AFRICA

# LETS GET IT 1962

rip to sister felicity tho

More Shelagh being flawless, like yes Laura Main is so gorgeous don’t sleep on it

”God moves in a mysterious manner" lol shelagh I just love u don’t ever change

“Our own son had polio once” yes use guilt to make your point & get ur way

take notes people

“What you did I did, where you go I go..” excuse me while my heart fucking melts 😭😭

I remember watching this Christmas Day & my mom and I did the same sigh and “aww” expression at that line

She loves the show and is going to be shook when she watches series 6 lol

Also like Shelagh’s dress is so cute I’m here for it

Lmaoo I was wondering for so long beforehand why tf they brought Fred?? They Need those engineering skills apparently  

CMON BABY DO THE LOCOMOTION 💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼

Yess the music is lit

Trixie’s turquoise dress 👌🏻👌🏻 I want it

Tims leg braces! I actually noticed them and was lowkey proud because I rarely notice shit in the background

More Shelagh being adorable, as always

Get those vaccinations💉💉 f*ck shots though lmao I hate them

What is Patrick whispering to Shelagh? 👀👀

That’s almost right up there with what in the actual fuck did he write in those letters to get her to ditch the habit and wimple 😉😏😉 NO BUT FOR REAL WHAT DID HE SAY? We’ll never know *sigh*

I’m here for everything Trixie wears lets be real

LOL SISTER JULIENNE BASICALLY TELLING BABS SHE CANT BE FOOLING AROUND WITH HER MAN OVERSEAS

don’t even argue that she’s making a big deal with any of that “he’s a vicar, she’s a vicar’s daughter, they don’t believe in premarital sex” either cause they were making out in public before and he was grabbing her ass in a CONVENT Lmaooo (good for him he’s not letting god stop him😂) jk I’m going to hell for all the jokes I’ve made through out this show anyway

I feel though, so im letting them live

But still the married couple barely touch each other 😂 so I’m a little salty *pretend there’s a salt shaker emoji* Fu*k it though

Also Patsy and Delia have been together for a while and haven’t kissed either as far as I remember

BEATRIX FRANKLIN SLAYING AS ALWAYS 😍😍 love her coat and glasses and everything she is

And yikes that swimsuit babs lol

There’s Patsy! With the horrible horrible wig :/

Sister MJ with the Christmas cake 😭😭 aye bendito she just wants to share it

How rich with alcohol is it sister? Pass it over

By guys🙋🏼 we out this Bitch ✈️🚢

The music makes me so happy 😭❣️

“Look at you Barbara! brussel sprout green” Lmaoo ew I hate Brussel sprouts and also throwing up in general😂 sorry babs you’re gross rn

Legit I have not thrown up since I was like 8, I refuse to let myself 😭😂and 3 semesters in to university and lots of parties and drinks I’ve never actually thrown up (been pretty close though haha) *knocks on wood so I don’t jinx it*

I love Phyllis. Have I said that yet??

“..do you have anything to stop my mascara from running” lol I am Trixie

but was there no waterproof mascara yet?

uh oh here comes the asshole sergeant (I think it’s the same guy as later on?), and Tom is so reasonable lol

 Shelagh’s hat with the flowers lol, but yes her cute summer dress love it, glad she only took one cardigan 😂

Lol when the sergeant tells Trixie don’t smile 😂😂

yes Dr Myra pulled up, I thought she was kinda bitchy at first and still kinda do but she’s tough and badass so I’m here for it

“I can see the caption now, English Roses dash African Skies exclamation mark!” .. “this is a new camera” LOL AGAIN PHYLLIS IS A GEM I LOVE HER SHE’S SO FUNNY

And again Trixie’s dress, it’s so pretty I want it😭😭

And again I’m Trixie, talking about needing a face mask 😂

lol Babs you smell like grajo 😂

Phyllis sniffing her 😂 “you’ve had enough barley sugar and sympathy”

The spider 😂 I don’t like spiders so I relate lol & Barbara killing it and coming at Phyllis with the clapback “there’s venom on it and some backbone”

Why do I find the linen habits funny?

Aw Shelagh “it’s at times like this I wonder what would Sister Evangelina do” I’m so glad she brought her up

Rip sister E 😰

I feel like Patrick would still feel hot in that linen suit, like it’s still a suit lol? same with the nuns but like they have no other choice

Alright I’ll give Dr Myra that though asking about radium treatment was naive of Patrick

Fred is so funny though 😂 leaving his mark by shaving lol

Throwback to Shelagh’s og bri nylon nightgown’s first appearance 😉  

“What’s all this” LOL about to be the cause of this miraculous conception that’s what 😂

“It’s made of a new material called bri nylon..” Shelagh is so cute and genuinely wanting to explain 💕

Lol like cmon u know Patrick probably doesn’t give a fuck and is gonna take it off

Of course Trixie would be mad she didn’t get to set her hair

“That hat covers a multitude of sins” that’s legit one of my fav Barbara lines 😂😂

Shelagh is the only one who brought the belt to her uniform because she’s Shelagh & has to look calm, cool, collected and professional lol

Phyllis’s kink: rolodex systems 📇

lol I really do like Dr Myra, making Patrick feel dumb and I don’t care

“..and they live in a society that is gradually stripping them of any dignity or freedoms they ever had..” again I like Dr Myra a lot. I didn’t really think she had a white savior complex as some people thought because she wasn’t trying to change anything just to help. She even says later on she does it for their need not her beliefs

Proud of Babs for learning xhosa phrases 

Just watching this man run makes me tired & he has like tb right? yup

LOL PHYLLIS IS LIKE DO I LOOK SCARED? kicking Fred out the drivers side 😂

“I’m all for persistence in the face of adversity” I loved this scene between Trixie and Roza 😭💕 too bad I didn’t know I was gonna end up sobbing later

Did the nurses and everyone know how bad Apartheid was?

“We have to bloom where we are planted” VANESSA REDGRAVE SAID A VARIATION OF THIS IN THE SERIES 2 CHRISTMAS SPECIAL WHEN MY BBY SHELAGH WAS GETTING READY BEFORE THE WEDDING I REMEMBER  

Damn tho Dr Myra didn’t have to yell at the lady :/

THE SCENERY THOUGH, I WANT TO GO TO SOUTH AFRICA

Phyllis learned some xhosa too and im not surprised, she does it all

“Do you have the means to protect this mother and myself” no, “Then I don’t wish to hear anymore about it” PHYLLIS IS HARDCORE SHE DOES NOT GIVE ANY SHITS I LOVE IT

Aw Tom watching babs with the baby

lol I’m not ready for them to have a kid so I hope they wait a series at least

“NURSE BUCKLE” im cryin laughing 😂 I need more of the Phyllis and Fred dynamic

She just had a baby IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE, YES THE MOTHERS ARE HEROINES

“Hells teeth” lol Patrick tried to make hells bells a thing but we know it can’t compare

Trixie serving another look, but whats new? But yes girl you watch those c-sections you’re up to the plate soon!

Haha she’s gonna teach Babs how to smoke

“They aren’t good for you, and the pair of you should know that” YES PHYLLIS WHY DOESNT TRIXIE KNOW OR CARE?

LOL SISTER WINIFRED we know you’re a red head

Idc, sister W used to smoke. I know it 😂 she was living it up before joining the order and lowkey while she’s been a nun, I just want to know her real name?

Of course Shelagh is worried about the lack of records but aye there’s the dress from 6.03 that magically fit even though her uniform didn’t 🙃?

“Typhoo, we brought it with us” YES I HAVE IT & I KNOW WHAT IT IS NOW & CAN RELATE

This scene with Roza & Constance & the nurses + sister W was so sweet I loved it 💕

“Why you should never be sorry, just be glad” 😭😭 there must be something in my eye that’s why it’s watery

Lol aw Trixie saying sister Winifred don’t go yet

Sister Winifred dancing 😂 go to compline

I lowkey have the sister Bernadette unhappy with being a nun vibes from sister Winifred except she’s never really unhappy? You get me? Like she’s annoyingly enthusiastic (in a cute way) most of the time but you can tell she wants to do thing nuns can’t do

“I just want to get it started so I can run him over”  DO IT FRED ILL GIVE U $5

“I’m here on a missionary basis, I’m trying not to think uncharitable thoughts” LOL DONT WORRY TOM, SHELAGH’s GOT YOU COVERED

“I’m perfectly happy to think them for you” and she pushes her glasses up 😂 I LOVE The sas. I love her. & then Patrick is like “that’s my girl” & it’s cute af

Dr Myra you’re in pain, I see you

LMAO SHE MAD THAT SISTER FELICITY DIED LIKE SHE MADE THE CHOICE?

“I don’t believe in any of that” how do you tell a nun you don’t believe in God lol?

CHURCH LIT 💃🏼👏🏼

SHELAGH & SISTER WINIFRED TRYING TO COPY THEIR DANCE IS THE CUTEST THING 😭

All of them in the back of the truck is  the second cutest thing 😭✨

I cherish the two seconds Shelagh and Trixie sat next to each other 😭 I just want them to be friends!! give me a cute scene between them pls, I won’t stop asking till I get one

yikes @ the water, STILL RELEVANT IN 2017! even in the US in flint

THE ELEPHANTS! ah love it. I want to go on an African safari 😭 guess I have to settle for the fake on in Disney’s Animal Kingdom.. it’s lit though I won’t lie

Mathias and Able 💔💔 and Patrick explaining “man to man”

“All medicine is good, usually” UGH THE THALIDOMIDE

No Dr Myra!!

It’s not liver cancer!! Ah now to wait till they realize

“There’s never no hope at all Patrick, it’s 1962” YES SHELAGH, THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE. ESPECIALLY CAUSE YOU’RE HAVING A FREAKING BABY, #LETSGETIT1962

Don’t worry Tom, leave it to the pros. Sister Julienne is gonna handle Mr Stark(e)?

SHELAGH WITH THE GOATS IM DEAD, why is she scared of goats but delivered fucking piglets in series 1? I’d be more scared of pigs?

Shelagh talking to sister MJ on the phone 😭💕 THEYRE BOTH PRECIOUS

fuck it’s Roza, brb im gonna cry now

😰😰💔💔 phantom pregnancy

Trixie hurting me more

beach time 🌞🌞

SHELAGH TURNER AKA SISTER BERNADETTE SERVING LOOKS ON THE BEACH. I’ve seen this 3 times and I’m still shook like The hat, the swimsuit, the sunglasses, I am d e a d once again😍😍 when will your fav ever??  She’s sunburnt and still killing it

LOL spicy sausage.. 

Phyllis in trousers >>

Also Phyllis had her camera where are the photos when they get back?

BEATRIX FRANKLIN SLAYING IN the black two piece and clubmasters AGAIN, when will your fav ever?

HOW DO I GET TO LOOK LIKE THAT? 😭😭😍😍

How am I so attached to Trixie and Shelagh’s characters like wtf?? Everything they do and say and wear, I’m just shook all the time. It’s not normal

Like Laura Main and Helen George could literally punch me in the face and I’d thank them

Why did Barbara get so mad on the beach with Tom? I feel the stress was real but damn

lol shoutout to everyone on Tumblr for pointing out that Shelagh and Patrick were being cute in the corner watching the sunset or whatever

I loved this scene between Tom and Trixie💕

MY BBY HAS COME SO FAR, SHE’S GROWN AND SHE IS THRIVING. LIKE SHE’S ABOUT TO PERFORM A DAMN C-SECTION 😭

also she looks so beautiful, I want to look like that ah😍

Shelagh with the picture of Tim and Angela 😭💔💔

THEN SHE TOOK IS TO THE HOSPITAL UGH, so glad that is over it was too much

“I knew that yearning once, I was lucky because it left me when we adopted our daughter..” UGH CRYIN AND NOW SHE’S HAVING A BABY ANYWAY

BUT I LOVED THIS SCENE AS WELL

Shelagh is understanding & not judgmental of Dr Myra and I just love seeing her nursing & well I love everything she does but I’m so glad she had such great screen time

FRED DOING THE HAND MOTIONS FOR WHAT TOM WAS SAYING LMAO

“Medicine isn’t about doing what’s easy, it’s about doing what’s essential” yes Patrick, we have come full circle

there’s always a moment when I watch ctm and I’m like “I should’ve tried to become a nurse” then I’m like LOL NAH. The nursing program is so intense at my university I wouldn’t pass it anyway 😂

my mother’s a nurse though, I’ll leave it to her. After watching this episode it reminded her of how she always wanted to do a mission trip or like nurses without boarders and was trying to tell my dad she still wants to go 😂

too bad I’ve ruined her plans because my university’s tuition is ungodly & I didn’t get one damn scholarship

“No anesthesia” DR MYRA IS NO JOKE, kick ass woman.

Patrick, Shelagh and Sister J aka the dream team

How did they fake this? So crazy

“When people have no love to live for, it’s so very easy to fill that void with hate” 💔💔 something is in my eye again😭

“ Look where we ended up” “WE HAVEN’T ENDED UP ANYWHERE..and I’m not going to say anything else because I’m afraid I may speak sharply and no matter how high the stakes you don’t deserve that” HELL YEA SHELAGH, I’m so proud.

Sister W casually trying to not look at the handsome but sweaty Tom

Oh shit Dr Myra’s down

CORRA SHELAGH

Shelagh holding the umbrella and laying in the back with Dr Myra >>

Now Constance’s going into labor

Mr Stark I know you think you have a reason to be an asshole but wtf she’s a nun? Like you don’t even feel slightly disrespectful?

“I know what is it to have nothing but a photograph or two..” UGH THAT EPISODE WITH SISTED J’S OLD BOYFRIEND KILLED ME

I love Sister Julienne, I hope we can see hear more of her past.

Lol pbs cut that scene of Babs singing but why?

“Then we have no choice. We have to operate ourselves.” YOU CAN DO IT TRIXIE

the first time watching this my anxiety was on 1000

Phyllis tying up Trixie’s gown up like they’re suiting up for battle

I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AND IM STILL NERVOUS

THE BABY IS STUCK LIKE I WOULDVE FREAKED TF OUT

this is also why I won’t be a nurse or doctor lol, I’m always panicking

BABS PUSH THE BABY BACK UP

AYE GRACIAS DIOS, ALL IS WELL

“Well done Trixie, I couldn’t be more proud of you” 😭💕 me either

Yea I say you earned a cigarette

Better late than never to make amends I guess, but get that clean water going asap no rocky

The Turners are back 👏🏼

THE CAKE TIN 😭😭

& Able and Mathias 😭😭

Aw Tom proposing ☺️ I don’t really feel anything for them as a couple but this was a cute moment 😭

SHELAGH AND PATRICK GIVING TIM’S LEG BRACES TO MATHIAS AH MY HEART

And they got the water 😭

I LIED BEFORE EVERYONE JUMPING UNDER THE WATER PUMP IS THE CUTEST THING😭💕👏🏼✨

“Not all gifts come tied in ribbons, or at a special time of year. Some blessings surprise us arriving unlabeled and we embrace them in a blaze of joy” DAMN IT VANNESSA IM CRYIN THANKS (also now it seems like foreshadow for baby Turner)

Roza as secretary!! My heart again

I bet Trixie took over like a badass while Dr Myra was recovering

THE GOATS HAHA

PHYLLIS TAKING ALL THOSE PHOTO’S AT THE END IS THE GREATEST PART 😭💖 IM SO HAPPY AND MY HEART GROWS LIKE THE GRINCH EVERY TIME I WATCH THIS SHOW

LOL THE NUNS GOT PHOTOBOMBED BY A CHICKEN

AND CUE REDGRAVE

“But though they’d given their labor and their love, they also took and they learned and they went home wiser, enriched in ways they could not count”

The End 😭😭💕💕😰😰

Ugh I don’t care, that special was spectacular and I loved every minute.

[tumblunni]

aaaa im getting stupidly inspired to work again on my old Dating Sim Ghost Tragedy Game since I had that dumb idea today about a new Dating Sim Ghost Tragedy Game I’ve had like five separate ideas for different tragic undead datey games :P Lets talk about this particular one!! I’m pretty tired so I cant really write it a big post like i did with today’s new idea, but I’ll try my best ^_^

The idea is that it’d be sort of a traditional medieval fantasy setting but its more like a slice of life tale of the regular citizens in these sorts of worlds, rather than a big destined hero thing. Sorta like the appeal of the Atelier series? I’m thinking the protagonist could maybe be a blacksmith or a gardener or some other down-to-earth job? I just feel like he’s a hardworking chill sort of dude, sometimes kinda comes off as emotionless to others, kinda depressed but devoting himself to his work helps him smile again. He’s really passionate about whatever he does! And i think deciding his job would be a big step towards developing this idea, because having it as a minigame would help add structure to the plot and some relief from the sadness. I dont wanna make it too similar to Atelier though... So yeah, the protagonist is this cute mid-twenties relateable fella who’s just trying to do his job. I think I wanna give his outfit dungarees or something? I feel like he’d always look a bit work-uniform-style even when he’s off duty, he’s kinda too lazy to change clothes. A perpetually bored and disinterested guy. Or, at least that’s the impression he gives off to people who don’t know him, he only brightens up around the few friends he has. AND HE PUTS 100% INTO THAT SMILE, GODDAMMIT

And then his childhood friend is someone who actually was sort of a ‘standard rpg hero’, but a really sad subversion of it. At the moment he’s currently the main love interest, and he’s still sorta the catalyst for the plot and the mysteries and all, even if you don’t pick him. or I dunno, maybe I’ll just make it only one love interest but many multiple endings, but I think this character would be happy if his love interest was happy with somebody else in the endings where they dont get together. He’d be crying but happy. Anyway, my mental image for him now is this really weary chronically shy cinnamon roll who’s like a big ol tall beanpole knight with long rapunzel hair that he hides behind. Maybe white hair cos that’d fit thematically with his plot, but is that too sephirothy? When they were children, knight-guy used to be this bright and uplifting figure who always protected protagonist and had such great dreams of being a hero who could save everyone! And he went off to join the army at a young age, and then he just... shattered. He came back disgraced as a deserter, the decade of loyal service ignored by all his former neighbours just because he’d quit in the end. He had a complete breakdown and just couldnt take the violence anymore, now he’s barely 23 years old and already retired. And completely alone. No family, just trying in vain to take care of his fragile self as he locks himself away in his house and everybody gossips about him. And the thematic thing is that his biggest fear is spiders. The moment he snapped was when he was left injured on the battlefield unable to move for hours, trapped under a pile of bodies of his fellow soldiers, trying to play dead to survive. He just remembers seeing a spider crawling across the face of the man next to him, the man in pieces... So everyone horrid in the village likes to mock him by scaring him with spiders, and I havent decided on his name yet but he probably has a spider-based nickname. He’s unlucky enough to even look spidery :P

Ooooooohhhhhh and for extra irony, the village is next to a magic forest populated by demon spiders. WHOOPS, FATE HATES YOU! They’re kinda like both the gods and demons of this village, they’re seen as morally bankrupt dangerous trickster spirits that’ll do whatever they want regardless of good and evil. Everybody talks about how horrible they are and warns that anyone who does [insert sin according to our religion] will be cursed by them, but they also make offerings to them and consider them entirely responsible for the success of the harvest, etc. Its like if you knew your gods were unpredictable dicks but you still tried to placate them with gifts! (like most old european pantheons I guess) And even though this setting is indeed a magical one, the existance of the spider spirits is kind of an unknown mystery similar to real life gods. People very rarely see them in times of need, and nobody can ever prove it really happened. The forest is indeed the ‘forest of spiders’ but the only proven fact is that it has a lot of (as far as we know) completely ordinary spiders in it. Nobody knows why so many spiders cluster in this one area, so making up a legend about gods seems like a possible thing that could happen. or maybe this one area really is the centre of the world where the One True Spiders weave the webs that tell the future, and these are their mortal followers praying in worship much like the humans do... Anyway, its just a cool aesthetic thing of a cobweb-encrusted forest where entire trees get coccooned annually as the seasons come and go~ And a cool civilization that has a lot of trade in silk and weaving! Kinda based on the old ps1 game Jade Cocoon, though that revolved around magical spirit silkworms instead.

At the time the story starts, best friend knight guy has been back home for a fair few years now. Him and protagonist met again, and protagonist is goddamn determined to take care of his ill friend and somehow manage to convince the town to take him back! Its basically two depressed people holding on to each other as their lifeline, and helping each other compensate for the things they’ve each been robbed of. Protagonist struggles with expressing emotion and being a complete pushover who can never tell anyone what he really wants, so its helping him a lot that for once he’s determined and won’t just mindlessly obey his parents. You cant tell me to cast aside my best friend! Plus best friend just generally thinks the goddamn world of him and helps him be happy! And best friend suffers from seeing himself as worthless and being anxious about disaster at every turn, feeling that nobody loves him and nobody SHOULD love him. And not being capable of taking care of his more mundane day-to-day needs because he doesnt believe he deserves to like.. eat, sleep, leave the house, etc. Poor guy... I’m so glad I invented a protagonist character that can be there for him! And seriously they both just renew each other’s self worth and I’m getting so emotional about this pairing before I’ve even developed it... GAHHHH

SO YEAH LETS GET DOWN TO THE ACTUAL PLOT It was kinda necessary to establish the history leading up to it, because that’s why it’s so tragic :(

Last year, the protagonist’s best friend vanished overnight and never came back. Everyone says he just ran away again like a coward, nobody even looked for him except you. They say he was last seen walking into the forest, and nobody will listen when you say that’s IMPOSSIBLE! His biggest fear was the spiders! The protagonist frantically tried to find him.. tried to find his body... tried to at least investigate this murder mystery and find some closure... tried to at least convince people that it WAS a murder mystery.... With the loss of the person he cared about most, the protagonist has slunk back into his own shell again, and starts to give up hope on life. Facing the same pariah treatment they gave his spider-fearing friend, he eventually learns to stop asking questions, to stop searching, to just do whatever his parents said. And his parents said he has to have an arranged marriage, to restore their reputation, after his STUPID STUNT of causing so much FUSS over the death of some stupid deserter... Each day blends into the next, as life becomes once again just going through the motions of being a ‘proper man’. Then... One day... He comes back. The spider-haired best friend comes walking though your door like nothing had happened! But.. he isn’t quite right. Your joy starts fading to a growing dread. He doesn’t remember what happened? He walks straight past the people heckling him? He seems more peaceful than he’s ever been, he’s fearless again and he keeps answering your questions with exactly what you’re desperate to hear. Sometimes you swear you see him talking to spiders whenever you turn your back... So you have to adjust to having him back, and try and figure out the mystery of his dissappearance while worrying whether you can trust him or not. You even entertain irrational thoughts that the legends are true, and maybe you’ve invited a forest spirit into your home because it mimicked the voice of the man you loved. And... what will you do about that love? For the first time ever he’s recipricating your feelings, he knows all those words that went unspoken, as if he could hear you every night as you wished you’d confessed while you had the chance. Is this really him holding you close, or is it a cruel trick to offer you everything you wanted, so the forest can claim you just like it claimed him?

So yeah, gameplay would be like exploring around each day searching for clues, doing a certain job-based minigame, and having chances to either go down the dating sim path or mistrust this man that may or may not be the one you knew. Even options perhaps to develop a romance with other characters instead? But will there be consequences for instilling jealousy in something otherworldly...? I think maybe if you just jump right into romancing possibly-friend-possibly-doppelganger, then you get a bit of a bad ending. Agreeing with him 100% and never solving the mystery is bad, regardless of whether he’s actually trustworthy or not. Either way it ends tragically, but there might be possibly a way to get a true romance ending with him if you actually do keep on top of resolving the main plot as well as just smooching. I... won’t say whether his romance is good or bad though :P And there’d be one not-romance route, where its kinda like you have to work hard to avoid romance! The protagonist’s arranged marriage is a big problem, he’d resigned himself to that fate but now he’s starting to hope he can confess to the one he really loves instead. But he’s gotta go against the whole damn world trying to force him into this ‘destiny’... Oh and I wanna make the most of the spider aesthetic! I was thinking that ‘fate threads’ could be a big gameplay element, with the possibility of getting these out-of-context flashforwards and clues that can help you avoid a bad ending. (Like in Until Dawn!) And romance meters would be a silk thread connecting the two of you, because pretty interface elements are awesome :)

POINTLESS RANDOM DEVELOPMENT TRIVIA This is actually a super old idea that’s remained undeveloped for many years! Back when i was a lil teen I originally imagined sort of a similar thing but with mermaids/water spirits instead of spider ones. And a lake instead of a forest, naturally. Also it kept flip-flopping on the genders of the characters. Ultimately i decided delicate spider aesthetic would fit better with a m/m couple and terrifying swamp creatures of fierceness would be better as sapphic. And the het idea died quickly cos it was based on dumb gender roles that the shy one has to be the girl, blablabla :P Oh and for some reason the whole spider idea came from reading one particular case in the manga adaptation of Ace Attourney. Weird, huh?

[huggpheonix]

Harry potter fan fic part 22

Until that day on august 23rd 1991, slytherins and gryffindors mightve hated each others guts. A friendship between the two houses failed to flourish and a friendship between two boys was almost unheard of. Until Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter met. On that night Harry stared out the window of privet drive. A bruise on his cheek was fresh and stung whenever Harry touched it, He absentmindedly felt the bruises on his ribs from his uncle kicking him. He felt the cuts from aunt petunia when he had failed to slice a vegetable right. "Likethis!" She yelled hoarsely and sliced his fingers. The memory wass till fresh in his mind and he felt crushed. He felt hopelesss. He had never known his mother and father, whom he never even knew the names of. A tear slipped out of his eye and he hastily wiped it away in case Dudley decided to rip open the door and yell at him. There was a spider crawling along the windowsill and he picked it up. "I know... I hate them too.. They squish you... They dont like to know you exist." It was Harry's eleventh birthday and the Dursleys had locked him in his bedroom and went out for the night. His stomach growled as he felt that too. There was a wilt on his abdomen. He sighed and put the spider down. That was when he felt a presence. There was a loud bang on the other side of the door. "H-h-hello?!" He yelled. The door flew open and in walked a strange lady with black hair in a tight bun. She had square spectacles and a hat, she looked very strict and not someone anyone would want to cross.  "Harry Potter. Number four Privet drive, the boy who lived. One of them.. Anyways," "Wwho! Who are you!" He yelled and backed into the wall. He was shaking from head to toe. 'Not another punisher..' He said in his mind. It was only now that a small boy with a round face stepped out from behind her. "Professor Mcgonagall. Hogwarts professor. Lets make this quick. Youre a wizard. You get a wand. You learn magic. Happy story." She said curtly. "Nothing to be scared of Potter." She said finally realizing his fear. "I I dont know who you are! I mean you just told me.. But... A wizard?.. I Im not special at at all... Magic doesnt exist!" "We have little time." She said sighing. She finally took out what looked to be a wand and gold and red sparkled out the end. She pointed it at the scar on his neck and it healed. "No.. No.. No way.." "Please.. Well explain everything after weve escaped." Harry's instincts told him to move. To do something. To step towards them. But he couldnt. After all his life of beatings and being crushed.. He didnt want that to happen again. "Its okay.." The boy piped up walking forwards. Mcgonagall said nothing and merely touched his shoulder to tell him he would bring harry with him to her. "Whoo..." He began but faded when he caught sight of the scar on his forehead. Harry brought his hand up to his own forehead. "You have one too?" The boy with the round face nodded and looked awed at the twin scars. "Im Neville Longbottom." The boy said after a minute. "Harry Potter." "I know. Who you are." "You need to come with us Harry. Because we are gonna take you away from here. It isnt safe for you. I know its scary and all, but.." He cut himself off and held a hand out. Harry flinched a little. Then he joined his hand in a handshake. The scars twinkled and it was a weird feeling, a wonderful elating feeling. They both smiled and then Harry walked out with Neville, "Im sorry you had to leave your family." Neville said sympathetically. They were all riding in a car towards a train station Harry knew as Kings Cross. Harry avoided the topic and instead asked about Neville. "Im ten.. Oh wait sorry eleven since yesterday." Harry didnt say that his birthday was a day after his. "Youre a wizard too?" Harry asked, "Yes.. But my family thought i was a squib,- eh non magical person from an all magic family." "How is that possible?" "Im not quite sure. I guess sometimes magic just doesnt run through all veins." Neville gave a sad smile. "Im a pureblood.. But i dont feel like one.. My parents are both.. Theyre not with me.." He said sadly. Harry was at a loss for words. "My parents.. They died in a car crash." He said "Car crash?" Neville asked dumbfounded. "Yeah.." Harry replied. "I thought your parents were killed by... You know who.." "Who? What are you talking about?" "My aunt and uncle told... Told.. Told me my parents crashed their car... I was the only survivor." "Harry.. You didnt get that scar in some muggle car accident..." "...its time i told both of you.. Its not my place to tell either of you.. But.. You deserve to know at least." Both boys looked towards the front. "Both of your parents. Alice and Frank. James and Lily. All gave their lives for both of you. He who must not be named, caught them both on the night one year after you were both born. They were celebrating you see... And .. You know who disarmed them.. Frank and Alice. He used both wands.. To kill. He killed your parents Harry Potter. And yours Neville were taken hostage. He had back up you see. But they were given last minute orders to not kill you both. For the killing curses rebounded upon both wands leaving ... Voldemort.. Powerless. And those scars were given to both of you." Neither said nothing after that, harry made a grasp for anything and found nevilles hand squeezing it tight. "But tonight. Death eaters are searching wherever you dwell. And its not safe anymore." "I dont have to see the Dursleys anymore?" Harry asked and Professor and Neville were confused to hear.. Hope in his voice? "My dear boy.. Are you happy about that?" It was only when she looked in the rearview mirror and saw a bruise on his collar bone, did she finally realise. "Where did you get that bruise Potter!" Harry flinched and curled up where he sat, he lied quickly, "i had to build Dudley's bed. The hammer just slipped out of my hands. Nothing big."  Little did he know that sounded little better. "What did they do to you." She demanded icily and slammed the brakes. She pulled over. She turned in her seat and gently lifted Harry's shirt. Underneath almost made her faint. Harry turned a bright red shade of scarlet and pulled his shirt down. "Im going to have a word with Albus." "Its nothing! Dont.. Dont make a fuss." "You cant downplay this! This is abuse. And ill die. Absolutely die, before any child i know of, has any evidence of abuse and goes back to their 'home'" Harry was sweating and Neville only tightened his grip on his hand. "Please.. Dont tell anyone.." Professor Mcgonagall stared into Lily Evans green eyes and sighed. "You arent going back there." Harry sighed with relief and almost cried. This was by far the best day of his life.. Or his birthday.. Neville didnt question harry on his bruises. It made Harry happier to realise that. Ten days later they were both fed up and cared for. They were told in detail of what to expect and they had gotten their wands. Finally it was time to board the Hogwarts express. "Neville.. Is this real.. Am i dreaming?" Harry asked Neville. "No, this isnt a dream, Harry. Its real. And im glad." Harry smiled and they both got into the compartment with their luggage. "A real wand.." He said in awe at the Phoenix and holly wand. 9 inches. "Try doing some-" "Mind if i join you two." Asked a voice from the door. A fiery haired boy taller than the door stood. Gangly and freckled, long nosed and big footed. They both nodded. "Whats your name?" Neville asked. "Ron. Ron Weasley." "Weasley! Wow im Neville, Longbottom." Ron nearly choked. "Neville Longbottom? Whos that?" He asked the small black haired green eyed bespeckaled harry. "Harry.. Harry Potter."  Ron frowned at this and finally made a gesture. Harry lifted his hair off his face to reveal a lighnting bolt scar. Just like Nevilles. "Holy shit... Twin scars.. Ive heard about that. Everyone knows." Neville and harry looked at each other confused, "The two only to survive the killing curse." Harry looked Ron up and down. "What house do you think youll be in." Neville asked Ron. "Gryffindor of course. My whole familys, in gryffindor." Harry's smile faded. He had heard a lot about the houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Neville grinned. "Me too, I think." "Slytherin." Harry said at last earning a stare from both. "Slytherin? Slytherin? The famous Harry Potter, in slytherin..." Harry did not see a problem with any house. "Whats wrong?" He asked. "Slytherin is home to dark wizard scum of course." "Im not a dark.. Dark wizard... I barely know any magic... Im friends with both of you.. Being in different houses, cant separate that.." "You must be thick, Harry. Maybe that night, the curse affected your brain." "Stop that!" Neville yelled throwing a glare at Ron and turning instead to Harry who curled his legs up and looked out the window. "That wasnt nice. That was being an asshole. Ronald, Weasley. The only one thick here is you. Harry is a nice kid. Harry is good. So what if he was to be in slytherin? Im still his friend." It was the first time anybody had stuck up for Harry. Harry almost cried again. "Hey.. Look.. Im sorry. That was way out of line.. Can you forgive me?" Harry glanced at Ron and saw sincerity in those words.  Harry held his hand out and waited for Ron to shake it. Ron did and they smiled. "Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Two friends on the first day of school. Lucky am I." The compartment door slid open to a girl with bushy brown hair and large teeth. "Mind? Everywhere is full." Ron smiled slightly and made room for her to sit. "Hermione Granger. You?" She asked them all. "Ron Weasley."  "Pleasure." "Neville Longbottom." To Rons surprise she wasnt excited to hear it. "H-Harry Potter." "Say you two.. Have matching.." She trailed off. "Those two are the only ones in the world to survive the killing curse." Hermione widened her eyes. "I knew i recognized you from somewhere!" She shouted pointing at both of them. "W-wow." Neville said surprised. Harry did not say anything and eventually he drifted off into sleep. "Boy, youd better be cooking the bacon right, or for all the power in me, i will beat you silly." Harry gulped and fumbled with the pan. "Y-y-yes.. U-u-unc-uncle vern..non.." Harry choked out. Dudley laughed and shovelled another bite of cake into his mouth and chewed very loudly. Aunt petunia merely made noises of encouragement to her little diddykins. Harry was dreadfully skinny, his hip bones stuck out and his ribs showed. The wilts,scars,scratches, and bruises were healing on his body still. After the night before when hed been caught stealing food, hed been beaten until all he could see was red. As an extra punishment they had given him all the chores and no food for days. His face was sunken and pale and he had dark bags under his eyes. His hair was very untidy and very messy. He wore dudley's old clothes which barely clung to him. Harry finally was done cooking when he lifted the pan and in his nervousness, burnt his whole hand and dropped the pan over Dudley.  Dudley yelled and not a second was wasted. Uncle vernon was ripping Harry's shirt from his back leaving red fabric burns. Uncle vernon slammed Harry over the edge of the table and began to loosen his belt buckle. He brought out his belt and whipped Harry for ten minutes. Leaving bleeding marks. He then proceeded to spit all over Harry and then shoved him to the floor. "Harry! Harry! Wake up!" Neville's voice said softly in his ear. "Please dont! Please dont!" Choked out Harry sadly and scared and panting for air. He scraped the air, he clawed it. "Harry!" They all stared at him concerned, but it was neville that was wiping his forehead and holding his hand. "Pleased ddddddonnnnttt... Please..." Harry sobbed and panted for air. He gulped and spluttered. He was not seeing Neville. "Pleaseeeeee..." Harry choked sobbing into Neville's shoulder. "Dont worry Harry, im going to be in slytherin too... Im going to be in slytherin too... Please.. Harry. .its okay... Its alright.. Harry.." Neville soothed Harry. Until Harry was just breathing deeply into his shoulder. Harry knew, his beatings would not leave his mind easily. Not at all. After a minute Harry pushed Neville back and backed up into the wall. He wiped the tears away hastily and pulled his clothes closed again. Hermione had seen though. She did not mention them. "Are you sure youre quite alright?" Hermione asked concerned. Harry coughed and nodded quickly. Neville looked hurt but shook it off. They both sat back down. "Are you kidding?! Not you too! Slytherin for you?!" Ron said hysterically. Hermione glared at Ron and Neville nodded without hesitation. "Come to think of it... Slytherin doesnt sound half bad." Hermione said. Ron glowered and sulked the rest of the way. Harry only half heartedly joined in on Hermiones and nevilles games. Eventually they arrived at hogwarts. As Harry entered the great hall with the other kids he thought of his aunts and uncles.. He felt at home here... He had a home... Here! The sorting ceremony had begun. "Abbott, Hannah!" "HUFFLEPUFF!!!" "Granger, Hermione!" "RAVENCLAW!!" Hermione smiled brightly at Harry and Neville and they grinned right back. "Longbottom, Neville!" Everyone became dead silent. He sat down nervously and closed his eyes. "SLYTHERIN!!" The slytherin table erupted with cheers and the gryffindors jeered. "Potter, Harry!" Harry gulped and went to the chair. "Ah... Harry Potter, one of the lesser known twin scar holders... I see greatness and knowledge and cunning and ambition in you. You could be great in any house.. Ravenclaws hold knowledge and intelect above all else... Hufflepuffs are always loyal and kind.. Gryffindors have chivalry, talent, and honesty... Slytherins... Oh how youd be a wonderful slytherin.." " Four years later. "Neville. Neville, snap out of it. Seriously. Youre going up against this dragon, but ik now youre gonna do it. I have all the counter spells and attacking spells. And.. My firebolt."  Neville was pale in comparison to Harry's tan face. He grimaced as harry brought out the racing broom.  "Neville, its alright." "Im gonna die, Harry." Neville whispered. "I wont let you die. Even if i have to confund that dragon. Youll do just fine." "NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM. PLEASE REPORT OUTSIDE TO YOUR DRAGON." "Thats a norwegian ridgeback. Vicious, harry." "Neville. Youre a brother to me. My other. I will not. Not let you die." Neville found a little comfort in that and made to hug Harry. Harry flashed back to uncle vernon slapping him and flinched covering his face and heart. Neville's face shone sadness. "Im sorry Harry.. Im not ever going to hurt you." "I-i-i kn-know.." Harry breathed deeply for Neville. Hed been all but the boys shadow in four years. Now on the brink of fifteen he felt more confident in his still skinny and small body. He felt at home at hogwarts. After Neville it would be Harry's turn against the dragon. The most viscious one there was. Neville gave harry a meaningful look and exited the tent. Harry waited in dread and sat back. "Harry Potter." Came a sneering voice from the back. Harry turned around in his chair. "Ronald Weasley." "You just had to drag Neville longbottom, into slytherin with you! Didnt you. Had to have the gryffindors spotlight taken away. Little pure bloods. Dont give a shit about muggle-" "What are you talking about?" Harry demanded bolting up. Hed learned to stand up for himself in those four years. "You. On that train. Four years before. The sorting. Neville said it himself. Hed have been in gryffindor had it not been for you, what makes you so special." Ron taunted. His gaze went up towards Harry's forehead. Where a blazed lightning bolt lay the spectacle of the room. "Im not special. Youre being a prat. Ronald Weasley. It was his choi-" "Lies. All a stupid pit of lies. Its because of you. He will be a dark wizard now. I ccant let either of you leave, at least not with your talent, and his fame. Not with your lives," "Dont you fucking dare. Lay a hand on Neville." Harry growled his eyes blazing a furious emerald green. "Watch your back. Dont come near us gryffindors." "Thats their choice. Thats not yours to make. You just cant accept that slytherins arent all bad." "Maybe." Ron glowered sending the table flying at Harry. Harry dodged it and sent a protective anti attack charm fluttering without saying a word. Ron made to disactivate it when Harry whispered,"expelliarmus." Rons wand flew out of his hand and across the room into Harry's outstretched one. "Dont threaten my friends, ever again, Ronald Bilius Weasley, or youll be sorry." Harry tossed back Ron's wand and sat back down again. He knew the gryffindor wouldnt dare strike back. Not with the gryffindor's reputable chivalry and honor taped to his back. "Nasty little slytherin dark wizard boggart eating wart faced scum." "Sooooo creative.. Go. Slytherins are cool. So is every house." Harry said cooly. Ron stalked out of the tent with hurt pride as neville came in the tent with a gleeful smile.he was covered in soot and a huge gash and burn adorned his chest. "I beat it!" He yelled hoarsely and the he collapsed.  Harry was beside him in a moment. He rubbed an ointment that healed the wounds on neville and then kissed his forehead softly. "Oh... Sorry.. To interrupt.." Came a soft voice from the door. Harry eyed Cedric diggory. "Hello Cedric. Youre after me arent you? In hufflepuff too. I believe," "Yes." Said cedric a little uncertainly but proud all the same. "I just walked in to tell.. You that.. Youre turn is-" "HARRY POTTER. REPORT OUTSIDE TO YOUR DRAGON." Harry breathed out deeply. "Thanks cedric." He said turning around. But cedric had already left. He sighed and nessled his broom in his bony grip. He gripped his wand as he left the tent. The dragon stood furousis and scanning the crowd for its prey. Then. It eyed Harry. Harry's scar burned as he mounted the broom. He flew around the dragon so many times. It got dizzy. It managed to miss the eggs. The Dragon bolted up and blazed the ground and air around it trying to knock Harry off the brrom. Harry dodged the Dragon's attempts but finally the Dragon swiped and tore across Harry's chest. Harry landed on a rock with a whump and groaned. He didnt have time for pain because right then the dragon smashed whered hed just landed. The dragon roared at Harry for being nimble. Harry gasped in ragged breaths. The breathing and pain was so intense and burning he clutched at his chest. The firebolt was behind the dragon and Harry thanked Merlin the dragon hadnt decided to break it. Harry jumped out of the way again as the dragon swiped at him. He ran as fast as he could to the dragon's spiny tail and jumped on. He cursed himself for thinking so brashly but clung on for dear life. The dragon breathed fire on everything and spit acid onto the ground. Harry clung on so tight it hurt his fingers. "Oy! Boy! Wake up! Its time to make breakfast!" Uncle vernon shouted at Harry's cupboard door. "Im not gonna say it again!" He yelled. The door was swung open by Dudley who yanked Harry out by the collar of his oversized shirt. "My boy! Dudley my boy! Go ahead rough him up a bit. But he still has to make breakfast." Harry glared hatefully at Vernon and immediatley regretted it. "Are you glaring at me?" He growled. He slapped Harry so hard his ears rung. It left a bright red mark on his cheek to add to the others. It ignited the burn mark on his cheek. "Im s-s-s-s-sorry!!!!! Uncle vernon Please!!!!" He stammered. Uncle vernon nodded with annoyed approval and slunk off into the kitchen. Harry was eleven and in pure misery. He was thrashed around by his uncle and beaten by his cousin. He was ridiculed and yelled at every day. His glasses were held together by a piece or ductape and he didnt fit his cousins clothes. He was hungry when he went to bed and hungry when he woke up. Dudley shoved Harry back into the cupboard. Harry frowned at Dudley. "This is new cousin. Finally shaking it up a bit?" He snarled spitefully. Dudley hit Harry across the chest. He peppered his chest with punches and kicks. Harry was pulled out of the cupboard by his aunt who brushed him off painfully and shoved off into the direction of the kitchen. Harry's eyes burned with retribution as he got out the frying pan. "Bacon again today uncle vernon sir?" He asked as politely as he could muster. "Bacon again, boy. Im surprised the school grades you so low, youre actually not as stupid as you look." Hardy bit his tongue and shook his head. He turned and started the bacon. He thought of Dudley who had turned the routine weirdly. He brushed it off. But later it wasnt nothing. Dudley requested Harry personally for hpstairs and Vernon had said Dudley had funner toys. To which dudley just took harry. "What are you doing you fat bastard?" Harry growled at Dudley once they were out of earshot, "You shut up, you skinny little bitch. Youre gonna be my toy for an hour." Harry widened his eyes. "Bullshit!" He snarled. He tried to rip away from his cousin but the lack of food kept him in his grasps. They sat down on the bed upstairs and Harry just folded his arms up. "What then? You want me to play trains or something stupid?" "Better." Dudley only said as he tore harry's pants down. Harry scrambled away. "What the bloody fuck are you doing?!" He asked with confusion in his voice. Harry shook his head as he was throttled onto the ground. He rolled over and the dragon dragged its teeth across Harry's legs and arms. Harry gasped in pain he shot out from under the dragon and pulled his wand out. "ACCIO FIREBOLT!!!" He cried and the firebolt shot into his hands. He jumped on and grabbed the eggs.  Everyone in slytherin cheered while the gryffindors booed audibly. Over the years, hed managed to make alot of enemies including voldemort himself. Harry was hit by the spell and caught off guard. He flew right into cedric and the killing curse missed him completely!p "HOLY SHIT! " cedric yelled. " you saved my life harry potter!" But Harry was on his feet in seconds he threw the port key at neville and cedric and it glowed a brilliant blue. And neville met harrys eyes... And warm brown met emerald green. Everything was in an instant. Voldemort cast another curse and Harry fought the duel pf his life. He dodged every one of his curses. Each one sending him into a frenzy. He thought each and every curse and hex and jinx and attack that voldemort was fearing the worst. Finally sectumsempra was aimed at Harry's chest and then Harry was pushed. He felt excruciating pain in his hand and screamed in agony. The killing curse had hit him in the back. He fell forwards as a bunch more ripped and tore his clothes, burned and seared him, cut and twisted him. He was out numbered. And it showed.  There was cheering as Harry was thrown into oblivion. "NOW WE MUST END THE OTHER!!!" Yelled Bellatrix Lestrange. "Shush.... We must wait.. Soon enough... The news.. Will reach him. He will feel guilty and be weakened. I want, for neville longbottom to feel what i feel." The death eaters cheered as harry lay in agonising pain. He tried to speak to gargle a plea for help. But those green eyes were growing dim. He could no longer see a long future where the two of them, neville and harry, watched thestrals together. He couldnt see them growing old together... All he could see was that instant when their eyes met. He could feel the cold gripping and twisting his body. He was about to surrender.. To give in to his pain. He was just about to accept all as it was... "You cant give up now.. I thought the famous Neville longbottom's twin was supposed to have some fight in him."  It came from above? Below? "Right here."  The voice dissappeared and harry could barely think. He could feel horrible terrible pain. Harry didnt really have to think twice. He tried once to move.. He couldnt really, from what he could feel, was that his hand was missing? Or just so numb he couldnt feel it? He knew he had had his fair share for injuries. He could feel the ache in his back or the burns.. But other than that..  Harry straightened himself out and sat up groggily. "Not bad. Not bad at all... Surviving the killing curse twice? That takes so e serious skill."  Harry blinked and blinked again. He couldnt believe his eyes. Before him stood Lily Evans her red hair glistening.she looked really young. Next to her was James potter. His untidy hair and glasses made him almost uncanny to harry.  Next to them stood Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. "Harry... My dear godson.." Gushed Sirius rushing forwards as lily and james followed. Remus pulled out his medic kit and sat next to harry. James smirked at Sirius and remus gave a tiny grin. "S-s-s-siri-si... Sirius?" He choked out. Then looked at remus. "P-p-p-pro-profe-professor?" He spat out blood and the pain in his back flared. "In the flesh." Said remus cleaning harry's wounds gently. "My god.. We got here too late.. It seemed.. I would never forgive myself if we... If we had arrived too late.." Harry couldnt help but have tears run.. People cared for him. For his wellbeing. After all this time he couldnt forget the beatings. How this felt so similar to that.. "Its.. Its going to be okay.. Harry." Remus said softly. He was now applying ointment to each of his burns. "Well, isnt this handy. Get it sirius.handy." Sirius fixed a pointed glare at remus but then harry was choking on laughter. He was laughing! "Only potters kid could ever laugh after being almost killed again." Harry couldnt stop laughing. He wiped away the tears and rubbed his lightning scar. He hugged his godfather and hugged his professor. He was so thankful to be alive! "Harry, youre sort of missing a hand." Remus pointed out. "Im sort of... Not missing my life!" Harry shouted. Sirius gave a pleasent chuckle. "You have a point." Remus said with a sharp toothed grin. After they had mended his bones, and applied bandages, and sealed off his hand, he was fine. He shivered and shuddered at the memories of voldemort almost killing cedric. Almost killing neville. Had he been thankful it was him instead. "Harry Potter, how you remind me of James." Sirius said after seeing harry eat. Harry didnt answer. He was lucky! To be alive! Surviving the killing curse twice! Evading death twice...  "Harry.. Did anyone else get killed? Neville? That hufflepuff boy?" Harry shook his head. Sirius slapped him on the back and harry yelled in pain. He fell onto his back and screamed. His mind automatically fell back to that time.. "You know what we all need?" Uncle vernon asked with a nasty grin. "Papa?" Dudley asked. "A beat down. A harry potter beat down." Harry had narrowly escaped death there too. "Harry!" Remus was yelling. "Im so sorry!" Sirius said in a hurried voice. Harry slapped remuss outstretched hand away and crawled to the bench they had conjured. He began to sob. "Harry?" Sirius said. Harry held his arms and hugged himself. He tried to be happy. He tried! But those beatings.. How he hated... "Im sorry,,," "Dumbledore placed me into my uncle and aunts care... But... They werent too good.." "How so?" Sirius asked. "They occassionaly hit me a few times... Butthatwasall!" He added hastily seeing the look on sirius face. He glowered and stood he growled. "Harry.. That isnt all is it? Fucking dumbledore... Im goingt o have a word with him.." "You dont have to!" Harry said quickly. "I mean... Professor... Mcgonagall... Already... She took me away from them." Sirius sat back down when Remus reached for his hand. He entwined their fingers and Sirius gave a grin. This did not go unoticed by Harry. "Lupin? Sirius?" They tore their gaze away from each other to look at Harry. "Yes?" Asked Remus. "Are you two together?" Harry asked it hoping it was a yes. "Yes." Came a straight forward reply from Sirius. Always straight to the point with sirius. Remus blushed. "Im glad, that you two are together." Harry stated firmly. He smiled geniunely. "So Im like a god relative." "God parents." Harry said quietly. These men were his family, besides Neville, Cedric, Hermione, and Draco. "Of course." Remus said and his voice cracked. Harry stood up. He hesitated and Sirius held Remus and looked at harry. Harry sighed and took a step at a time.  He faced an image of Vernon slapping him with a dishpan. "YOU BLOODY VERMON!!!!I SHOULDVE GAVE YOU UP A LONG TIME AGO, HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR PETUNIA, YOUD BE ON THE STREET TAKING DICKS UP YOUR ASS!!!" He bellowed and ugly spit flew everywhere. Harry could do nothing but take the beating and cry. He had soent his days crying. And starving. And hurting... But somehow hed survived... It must have been his magic. He flinched and took another step towards them. He would try to put this past him... Another image of Dudley and him in the playground. Dudley was tying him to the poles of the monkey bars. He used duct tape he had borrowed from his mum. He smeared mud all over Harry's face and hair. He then peed all over harry's new (dudley's) shoes. Then he got all his friends to beat harry up. Harry stumbled a few steps back and tears spilled down his face. He then flung himself forward three more steps and was closer than ever. "You little disgrace!such a freak! Just like your mother!" She shouted shrilly. She backhanded him. He held his cheek and stumbled backwards. She ripped his jeans down and he felt hot fingers where he shouldnt have. He felt tugging and squeezing that made him feel good, but also horribly tainted. She smacked him and spanked him silly.  He choked and finally he froze up. He returned to the present. He thought of how he had rescued his godfather with the help of Hermione, and the professor, Lupin. Blth men he adored. He saw warmth and understanding. He felt... Safe. He flung himself at them both. They held him in a tight and secure embrace. Lupin was surpirsed and Sirius looked very very blessed. They sat like that for a long time. Harry had told them of an instance of his abuse, and they only hugged him tighter. "Its going to be okay, now. Okay? We arent going to ever, ever, hurt you." Sirius assured. "Those horrible muggles, will never touch you again." Finally after that they all fell asleep. Harry in between the two. They were all hodling each other, maybe afraid, if they let each other go... That theyd lose each other. The morning came with the sun. It shone brightly over where they lay. It filtered through the branches and caught Harry's glasses. Harry gasped and inhaled, he sat up and yelled. "Dont touch me!" He started but Remus just put a hand on his shoulder. "Its okay.. Its okay... They cant hurt you.." Harry finally opened his bright brilliant green eyes, and looked at Remus. He looked at Sirius. Finally he just sighed and recovered his breath. "Are you ready Harry? I mean.. I mean to say.. You dont have to just.. Go bac--" "Yes. I do. No doubt theyre making up stories. Of how big bad slytherin harry tried to kill good little neville and cedric.." "I doubt that, Harry. Cedric.. Cedric.. That sounds familiar to me." "Probably one of your students... Lets see.. I was in third year.. And hes in like year six now i believe.. He wouldve been in fifth when you taught him." At the look of confusion on Remus's face harry elaborated. "Hufflepuff. Good looking kid. Seeker. Quidditch captain? Diggory." "Ah! Diggory. Such a wonderful kid. Rather respectful. He was good at data." Harry smiled. "Diggory would vouge for you, Harry. Neville, he would never let people talk bad about you." "I suppose.. But I still need to go back. Just to confirm i didnt die." "Yes." Remus said. He nudged sirius in the ribs. "What?" Sirius snapped sitting up wand at the ready. "We're fine, Sirius. Merlin. Watch where youre pointing that thing." Sirius gave a smirk. "Thats not what you were saying the night be--" "Sirius! We have an impressionable child in front of us." Remus flushed. Sirius only pushed him playfully. Harry blushed and got up. He pulled out his wand and stretched. Lighting up the end, Harry walked around shooting spells at trees. "Quite the magic youve got kid!" Sirius yelled. After a while he was done bulding his magic core. He sat back with them. "Ah, Harry. We are no doubt.. Youve heard, on the run together. So we're gonna apparate with you to the castle." Harry nodded he glanced at his lost hands and eyed it carefully. It was weird.. Like an airy feeling. He slipped the bandages off of his arm and leg. Magic had healed the majority of his cuts and his bruises had sealed over. The burns would leave dull red marks for later. "Ready, Harry?" They both questioned him. "Y-yes." They touched him lightly and then they turned on the spot. In front of the castle they hugged him briefly and sirius kissed his forehead. They encouraged him and then they dissapparated. Harry clenched his wand tightly and limped through the gates. He half ran to the great hall doors. He wrenched them open with all his might and people stared. "ITS HARRY POTTER!!!!" Some of the, chanted. "SLYTHERIN SUCKSSSS!!!!!" They spat. "THOUGHT YOU COULD KILL CEDRIC AND NEVILLE EH POTTER?!" One of them yelled. "CEDRIC IS TOO STRONG FOR YOU POTTER!!!" "SURVIVED THE KILLING CURSE TWICE?! NOW WE KNOW YOURE IN LEAGUE WITH YOU KNOW WHO!" Harry held his head high and ran towards the headmaster's office. As soon as he got there he met-- "Ah mister Potter. Quite a delight seeing you here. Thought you had been killed, or at least.. Turned traitor." Snape sneered. Even though harry was slytherin snape had still mistreated him. "Im not in the mood. Leave me alone." "If you were in any other house, i would punish you severely." "Thats right... I forgot, you hated my mum and my dad, right? Cant get over childhood, can you severus? Fine, hurt me, punish me. But, you wont do it until im finished here." Snape looked taken aback and looked him through and through. He never once had stared directly at him.  "You.. Have.. Her eyes." He whispered and then swept away. Harry blinked and threw a spell at the gargoyle. It flew open and he ran up the steps three at a time. "Dumbledore. Thought i was dead. Honestly, you should hear the stories, the gossip." "Mr.Potter!" Dumbledore exclaimed standing up abruptly. He looked bewildered and confused. His piercing blue eyes blazed Harry's but for once Harry's eyes seared his own. He gritted his teeth and then showed his hand and then pulled up his shirt. "I was hit and abused and pushed around. I was cut and burned and ridiculed, for eleven years, Dumbledore, as if that wasnt enough, my parents were killed. And i was branded. Not long ago I was hit by the killing curse again. My hands gone." "Harry, I--" Harry held a hand out and stepped forwards. "Where is Neville? And cedric? And hermione, where is draco?" He asked. "I hardly... I hardly think.. You can march into.. " he stopped at the glare. "Neville is in the common room. Cedric is with him. Hermione and Draco are in there with them." Harry was out of the office before he even finished the sentence. He could hear jeers. He could hear confusion and astonishment. He had arrived at the door. He hissed at it in parseltongue and it flew open.  Open mouths and wide eyes greeted him from every direction. "Youre not dead!" One of the slytherin first years shouted. "Harry Potter! Neville longbottom's other isnt dead!" Harry smiled graciously at them and then limped forwards. He headed downwards into the boys dormitory and wrenched the door open. Draco stood up and a look of terror froze upon his face. Hermione looked up from her book and dropped it. She glanced at Cedric who bolted up and touched nevilles shoulder absentmindedly. Neville was the last to look up and he ran forwards. He hugged harry and then he kissed him. Harry hugged him back and didnt resist. He closed his eyes and felt Neville close up. He hadnt ever felt a kiss like this in his whole existence. It was nice. Draco clapped slowly and Hermione wolf whistled, cedric looked shocked but congratulations shone brightly on his face all the same. They all grinned and rushed forwards to give Harry a hug. "We thought you were!" "Dead, i know! Me too! I was.. I was rescued.." He admitted. As they all sat down he began the retelling. It ended and amazed looks plastered their faces. "What?" Harry asked finally after a moments silence. "You.. You survived the killing curse?!" Draco blurted out. "You fought voldemort and saved mine and nevilles life!" Cedric said too. "Youre amazing Harry Potter." Neville held Harry's hand and he felt for once... He might be. "Well, howve you all been?" "Ive been doing my homework unlike Draco here." Draco grinned and put his hands up. "Look, school is for hanging out and we are wizards. Its in our blood to be gifted." Hermione and Cedric smiled. "Ive actually been seeing Ron Weasley from Gryffindor." Everybody stared at Draco. "Really?" Asked Harry surprised. "Wow thats cool, whats he like?" "Hes actually pretty sweet. When you take away his prejudice and hate towards purebloods and slytherins." Harry gritted his teeth, "that doesnt sound sweet, Draco." "Im fine. Harry. Really. Im a natural born heartbreaker."  "Rons actually very respectful towards me." Cedric piped up. "Youre a hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs have NO prejudice or hate towards any houses. Youve done nothing horrible in history." Cedric considered that, "well.. Thats not right. He shouldnt think you guys are all bad. Snarky and downright sassy but you wouldnt hurt a fly." Neville and Harry and Draco all grinned. "He seems to like Me." Hermione said all of a sudden. "I never said his sexuality." Said Draco. " we arent serious. Hes bi." Hermione nodded. Harry nodded too. "So its just slytherin he hates the guts of." Harry said finally. "Yep." They all said at the same time. "Ive been in the hospital wing since yesterday. Those spells hit us all pretty hard. Eh Neville?" He said looking at Neville. "Yeah. Cedric got the worst of it though. I got to go back to classes two days ago. Transfiguration was a nightmare. Herbology was amazing." "You and your plants Neville" draco said with fondness in his voice. "Yeah got a huge scar across my back. Wanna see?" He asked them. Draco sat up with attention nodding. Neville shrugged. Harry stood up and told them he had to go. Hermione glanced towards him. "Are you okay Harry?" She asked him. Neville made to go with him and Harry didnt object. "We'll be back." "Mcgonagalls got condoms in her office!" Draco shouted teasing them. Harry went bright red. And Neville only told him to shut up. As they left they could hear laughs. "Whats wrong?" Neville asked as soon as they were out of earshot. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I just... Nothing." He said deciding to say nothing. "Harry Potter. I know theres something wrong. Come on. Lets go for a walk." Harry nodded. Diamond eyes deftones Not up to me kandle Music out of yourmouth